


Live. Love. Lose. Repeat.

by menel



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men (Original Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Developing Friendships, Emotional Manipulation, Experimentation, First Kiss, Hallucinations, Illusions, M/M, Mission Fic, Pining, Resolution, Starting Over, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-07-30 12:21:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20097151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: Scott and Logan’s search for a mystery mutant leads them to an out-of-the-way picturesque inn where, naturally, all is not what it seems.Written for the prompt, 'I’ll be there for you (one character comforts, consoles and/or supports the other in a time of need).'





	1. The First Time

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a play on _Edge of Tomorrow_'s tagline, 'Live. Die. Repeat.'

The silver BMW pulled into the parking lot of a secluded country inn. There was nothing around for miles except for fields and the woods behind the inn. 

“Ya sure this is the place?” Logan asked. He and Scott had been on the road for hours and, as usual, Summers hadn’t let him drive. The field leader of the X-Men could be a possessive control freak when it came to his precious toys, and Logan was going stir crazy in the front seat. 

“This is the place,” Summers confirmed, switching off the newly installed positioning tracker on his car. 

Logan shook his head. “GPS for mutants,” he said, with some distaste. “Can you imagine what Magneto would do with something like that?” 

“This is just a trial device,” Summers reminded him. “And we’re not going to let this technology fall into the wrong hands.” 

“Don’t have to do that,” Logan grumbled as they both got out of the car. “If Blue can develop this, it’s not gonna be long before somebody else can develop it too.” 

Summers locked the doors of the car. “Not everyone has access to their own Cerebro or knows a telepath even one quarter as powerful as the Professor,” he replied. “The developments will happen, but hopefully at a slower pace.”

“So, what’s the plan here, Cyke?” Logan asked, as they both automatically surveyed the area. 

“Since we don’t know the specific abilities of the mutant we’re looking for,” Scott began, as they walked towards the inn’s entrance, duffel bags in hand. “We’ll check in for the night and then discreetly start investigating. This mutant’s signal is strong, which suggests that they’re at least a level 3, possibly even a level 4. They shouldn’t be too difficult to find.” 

“And then?” 

“The usual song and dance. Be discreet. Talk to them. Only use non-lethal force if necessary.” 

“I’m not the one who blows rooftops off train stations,” Logan observed, as they neared the inn’s front entrance. Summers didn’t spare him a glance, but Logan could practically feel the other man rolling his eyes behind those ruby quartz lenses. Scott’s silent irritation made him smirk and he decided to push the envelope. “It’s a good thing we’re not wearing our uniforms,” he said casually, as Summers swung open the old-fashioned inn door. “Nice place like this? We walk in wearing that tight black leather and people will think we just came from an S&M convention.”

Inside Logan was silently laughing. The idea of Scott Summers at an S&M convention was completely absurd. The man’s idea of a fetish would be perfect syntax. 

This time Summers did spare him a glance. “Be civil, Wolverine,” he warned in a low tone, before heading to the registration area.

* * *

The inn was lovely with an old world air about it. Scott took in the rich wood paneling at the front desk, the wide staircase that led to the second floor, the plush carpet beneath his feet, and the homely yet stately furnishings that decorated the lobby.

A woman dressed in a maid’s uniform and carrying a set of towels was walking up the stairs to the second floor. She flashed Scott a welcoming smile, one that Scott couldn’t help but return. From that particular angle, the woman reminded him of Jean. _Jean would’ve liked this place_, he thought wistfully.

It was the scent of stale cigar smoke that brought Scott back to the present. Logan was standing on his left and a mixture of cigar smoke and malt liquor seemed to be permanently embedded in the worn leather jacket that he was wearing. Scott had had to put up with the offending scent for the entire drive. 

Logan was not supposed to be here. He’d turned up unexpectedly that morning and gotten into the front seat of the BMW without an explanation. Scott had taken one look at him – the guy looked like he’d had a rough night – and immediately sent a mental inquiry to the Professor. Xavier’s answer had been swift, as though he’d been expecting Scott’s question. Ororo, who was supposed to have been his partner for this mission, had been sent at the last minute to Washington D.C. to help Hank gain more support for an important bill on mutant rights. Logan had volunteered to go in Ororo’s place. 

“Volunteered?” Scott had repeated somewhat dubiously. 

“It’s a good sign, Scott,” Xavier had said patiently. “It means that Logan is more integrated into the team.” 

“If you say so,” Scott had replied, unwilling to get into a disagreement with his mentor over _Wolverine_.

“Check in with Chuck?” Logan had asked suddenly, as Scott started the engine. 

“Thanks for coming,” had been Scott’s somewhat curt reply. Wolverine would never be able to claim that he wasn’t at least professional when they were on the job. 

“No problem,” had been Logan’s equally curt reply, gaze firmly fixed in front of him. 

_Yep_, Scott had thought. _It was going to be a long drive_. 

Now they were standing in front of an empty registration desk in a homely inn in the middle of nowhere in search of a mystery mutant. Scott only hoped that the inn would still be standing by the time they left. Logan had a penchant for leaving destruction behind him and it was a very nice inn. 

Scott tapped the bell on top of the registration counter and a few moments later a woman appeared from behind the office. 

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she greeted them pleasantly. “How may I help you?” 

“Two rooms for the night, please,” Scott answered, equally politely. 

The woman smiled and opened a large, leather-bound book – old-fashioned registration just like everything else in the inn – turning it around so that it faced Scott. “Please sign here,” she instructed him.

Scott picked up the black fountain pen the woman had left on top of the page and neatly filled out the necessary information while she pulled down two heavy door keys from the wall behind her. 

“Rooms 107 and 108,” she informed them. “They’re side-by-side on the second floor. Do you need any help with your luggage?” 

“That’s all right,” Scott replied. “It’s just an overnighter. We haven’t got any luggage.” 

She nodded. “My name is Melissa,” she introduced herself, as she handed over their keys. “Call the front desk if you need anything.” 

“Melissa,” Scott repeated. “Are you the proprietor?” 

“Co-proprietor,” Melissa corrected. “I run this place with my husband, Jason. It’s been in my family for generations.” 

“It’s a lovely inn,” Scott praised. “But it seems a little out of the way.” 

“It is,” Melissa agreed. “But I think that’s also one of its charms. People like to get away.” 

“I’ll say,” Logan agreed, much to Scott’s surprise. 

Returning his attention to Melissa, Scott said, “How many rooms do you have here?” 

“Fifteen,” Melissa said. “Seven on each floor, plus the honeymoon suite.” 

“Don’t appear to have many guests,” Logan observed. 

Melissa smiled. “It’s the off-season,” she explained. “But we’re always full during the busiest times of the year.” 

“Well,” Scott said, drawing their conversation to a close. “Thanks for all your help,” he told her. “I’m sure we’ll enjoy our stay here.” 

“You’re most welcome,” Melissa replied. “Dinner is served at six,” she added. “It’s al fresco out on the terrace.” 

“Looking forward to it,” Scott said. “Thanks again.” 

As if on cue, Logan fell into step beside him as they walked towards the staircase. 

“Could’ve pressed that recon a bit further and just asked how many guests are staying at this place,” Logan pointed out as they climbed the wide staircase to the second floor. Wolverine had pitched his voice low, even though there was no one around to hear him. Melissa had once more disappeared into the office behind the counter and there wasn’t anybody else in sight. 

“You’re assuming that our mystery mutant is a guest,” Scott replied, voice equally low. “He or she could be part of the staff.” 

“Doesn’t look like there’s much staff in this place,” Logan said. “Off-season, remember?” 

“Then maybe our search won’t take too long,” Scott said. “In a place as small as this, anything unusual is bound to be noticed.” 

They’d reached their rooms and Scott gave Logan the key to 107, stopping briefly in front of the other man’s door. “There’s a little over an hour before dinner,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Why don’t we meet at the restaurant at 6:00pm and go from there?” 

“Gonna catch up with some beauty sleep?” Logan couldn’t help but chide.

Logan’s perceived jibe completely went over Scott’s head. Scott had grown so used to tuning the other man out in order to minimize their antagonism that he hadn’t noticed that Logan’s taunts had transformed into something milder, friendlier even, a while back. If Scott had been paying attention, he might have recognized Logan’s change in demeanor as ‘banter.’ 

“It was a long drive,” Scott answered. “I thought I’d stretch my back, even if I don’t actually fall asleep. What about you?” he added after a moment. 

“I could use a drink,” Logan admitted. “I’ll be at the bar.” 

“Just because we’re on the Professor’s tab –” Scott began, a displeased look crossing his features. 

“Relax, Cyke,” Logan cut him off. “I know we’re on the job. Bartenders are a great source of information.” 

Scott knew that to be true as well and he nodded. “All right,” he agreed. “I’ll meet you at the bar before dinner,” he revised, before heading to his own room.

* * *

Logan watched Summers’ retreating form before opening the door to his room. The room was cozy, continuing the rustic, but polished family theme that had greeted them in the lobby. He couldn’t imagine what a mystery mutant was doing at this place, but his time with the X-Men (the one-year anniversary of Jeannie’s death had passed three days ago) had taught him that the world was an even stranger place than he had previously known.

He hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Summers that he was hitting the bar. He craved the burn of a stiff drink to take some of the edge off because that’s how he felt – on edge. Being around Summers – especially over the last month during the lead up to and now the aftermath of Jeannie’s death anniversary – put him on edge. Yet he couldn’t tear himself away. He was watching Summers like a hawk. For what, he wasn’t certain. At the very least, it was something he couldn’t quite admit to himself yet. Summers may have been the master of repression, but Logan could give him a run for his money in the denial stakes. 

Logan winced. He could feel a headache coming on, making that stiff drink even more appealing. He’d only managed to give his room a cursory survey before there was a knock on his door. He turned around and reached for the doorknob, not even bothering to see whom it was through the peephole. He was surprised to find Summers standing on the other side. They’d just parted a few moments ago. 

“Can I come in?” Scott said, already pushing his way past Logan before Logan could respond. 

“Sure,” Logan said gruffly, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice. 

He shut the door again, eyeing his team leader warily. Scott’s visit was…unexpected…and didn’t seem to bode anything good. At least, not judging by the way the other man was running a hand through his hair. Logan couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen Summers so agitated. Agitation just wasn’t part of Cyclops’s unflappable veneer. Logan placed his duffel bag on top of a nearby armchair and waited for the other man to say something. 

“Something wrong, Cyke?” he eventually asked, when Summers didn’t say or do anything else. Logan could feel the tension in the air. It was thick enough that he could probably cut through it with his adamantium claws. 

Scott finally turned around and Logan felt even more disconcerted. Summers looked lost. Truly lost, which Logan thought was a helluva lost worse than being agitated. 

“Do you remember that day on Alkali Lake?” 

Logan felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs. Of all the things Summers could’ve said, he’d never have anticipated _that_.

“’Course,” he managed to get out. “It’s not somethin’ any of us is ever gonna forget.” 

“I remember every detail of that day,” Scott said, speaking as though he were in a trance. “But the part that I’ve been thinking about the most – the detail that keeps replaying in my mind isn’t the part where Jean sacrificed herself.” He paused, his gaze sharpening on Logan. “It’s the moment after. On the Blackbird. When I was going to run outside and throw myself into all that water, you stopped me, and held on to me.” 

Logan shifted, uncomfortable under the weight of Scott’s gaze. “Well, what else was I gonna do?” he said, when it was clear that the other man was expecting a response. “I couldn’t let ya kill yerself.” 

“It was more than that, Logan,” Scott said, in a way that made Logan’s heart rate increase. He was thankful in that moment that _he_ was the one with the hyper senses, and that it wasn’t the other way around.

Scott took a few steps toward him and Logan could feel it. He could absolutely _feel_ it – the tension in the room, the static electricity crackling between them. He was rooted to the spot. 

“You were there for me,” Scott continued, standing so close to Logan that he was invading Logan’s personal space. And still, Logan couldn’t bring himself to move. “You were there for me when I needed it the most. And you’ve been there for me ever since.” Scott paused, shaking his head. “I didn’t realize until recently how much I’ve come to depend on you. And I don’t think I’ve ever told you,” he went on, looking at Logan again. “How much I appreciate what you do.” 

Logan couldn’t explain what he was feeling – the tightness in chest, the slight stinging in his eyes, the difficulty in finding his voice. “Scott,” he eventually managed to get out.

It didn’t matter. Scott was kissing him, actually _kissing_ him. Logan couldn’t think after that. He let instinct guide him, and he was returning the kiss, walking Scott backwards further into the room until the other man’s legs bumped the side of the bed. The action briefly interrupted their kiss as Scott chuckled, amused, but Logan dived right in again, using the break as an opportunity to strip his jacket and t-shirt. Then his hands were working on Scott’s oxford shirt and the other man wasn’t objecting. Scott let Logan unbutton his shirt, as his hands roamed over bare skin, drifting lower and lower until they rested on Logan’s hips. When Scott finally cupped Logan’s cock through the rough denim of Logan’s jeans, he found Logan hard. Logan growled at the touch, pushing himself further into Scott’s hand. Scott smirked, once more breaking their kiss. But Logan could forgive him when Scott unzipped his jeans and took his cock out. _Lube_, Logan thought. They needed lube and he didn’t have any.

Later, Logan would realize that this was the moment when he should’ve realized that something was off because, as if reading his mind, Summers produced a small tube of KY from his pocket. At the time, Logan was too caught up in the haze of his own lust to care, and the action didn’t seem out of character for Scott at all. Summers was a boy scout in everything else. Why should sex be any different? Except, for Scott to be prepared with a tube of KY meant that he’d entered Logan’s room with the intention – at the very least, the hope – of having sex with him. And really, was _that_ part of Summers’ character?

Right then, those were not the thoughts occupying Logan’s mind. His focus was on stripping Scott as quickly as possible, before his team leader came to his senses; of stripping _himself_ as quickly as possible, before his team leader came to his senses. Scott didn’t seem to be coming to his senses though, not by the way he allowed Logan to push him onto the bed, his hands still working on Logan’s cock, now slicking Logan up with the KY. Logan leaned over him, tugging on Scott’s khakis so that the other man had to stop his actions to help Logan get his slacks and briefs off. Scott’s clothes landed on the floor, joining Logan’s leather jacket and t-shirt. Then Logan was the one pulling off his jeans and boxers, adding to the pile of clothes by the side of the bed. He climbed over Scott, and before the other man realized what was happening, Logan had taken him in his mouth.

Logan heard Scott’s sharp intake of breath, and he was pleased by the sound. Unlike him, Scott had only been semi-erect, but he swelled to full hardness in Logan’s mouth. Logan worked him thoroughly, with lips and tongue and hands, until he felt a warning grip in his hair. Just like they’d come to rely on non-verbal cues in the field, Logan understood what the action meant. He released Scott’s cock, the other man’s pre-come dribbling down his chin and moved back up Scott’s body.

“How do ya wanna do this?” he asked, as Scott leaned forwards and licked at the pre-come on Logan’s chin. Logan almost came from the action. That was so hot. And filthy. And he never imagined in a million years that Scott would do anything like that. 

Summers grinned, his smile slicing sharper than Logan could ever remember seeing it. The Boy Scout was no blushing virgin in bed, not that Logan had ever thought him a _virgin_, at least not with the opposite sex. But maybe, just maybe, part of Logan’s fantasy was that he’d be Scott’s first _man_. How wrong Logan was. Instead of inexperience, he was being greeted with seduction. 

“I can take you on my back,” Scott answered, and there was a faint challenge in his tone. “Or do you prefer me on my hands and knees?”

Logan growled at the imagery presented to him. The little shit was taunting him. To put that dirty mouth to use, Logan kissed him again, hiking Scott’s legs on either side of him at the same time. He slicked his fingers with lube, continuing to kiss Scott to distract him from the upcoming intrusion. Scott still tensed when the first finger entered him as Logan expected, but he soon relaxed, chasing Logan’s tongue in a heated kiss. 

_He’s done this before_, Logan thought with some wonder, followed by a spark of jealousy. The realization urged him on, and he probably wasn’t as gentle as he should’ve been. But Scott didn’t seem to mind, not with his breathy moans and sighs and whispered words of encouragement. He stroked himself languidly while Logan worked him open. Logan knew he should spend more time prepping the other man, but the idea of straitlaced Cyclops talking dirty in his ear was just too much. 

“You got a rubber?” Logan asked him, cursing himself for not thinking of it sooner. 

“I’m clean,” Scott said, which Logan translated to mean, ‘no.’ Scott was looking at him expectantly. 

“Yeah, I am too,” Logan admitted. Contrary to popular belief, the Wolverine didn’t sleep around. Sex was intimate. Significant. Logan didn’t see any reason why he should be sloppy about it. 

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Logan could hear the same faint challenge in Scott’s voice and he shook his head, not in disagreement but in disbelief. He was whipped. How did this happen without him noticing? Maybe it was because he’d never had Summers in his bed until now. Logan wasn’t waiting for anything else. With Scott’s thighs supported by the cradle of his legs, he guided himself in. There was that same reflexive tensing again at the first breach of his body, but then Scott exhaled and relaxed, motioning Logan nearer with one hand. Logan obliged and was met with a deep, open-mouthed kiss. _Godammit, the Boy Scout could kiss_. He sank into the welcoming body, Scott’s legs spread wide to accommodate him. He stilled once he was all the way in, allowing Scott to get used to him. When Scott wrapped his legs around him, Logan began to move. 

Logan didn’t know if he’d ever get this chance with Scott again, and so he wanted to make it last for as long as possible. He wanted to remember the planes of Summers’ body, the way Scott responded to him, the little gasps he made every time Logan hit the right spot. But despite his stamina and his healing factor, Logan couldn’t make this last forever and he was the one who came first. Scott shifted restlessly beneath him, still hard and aching. 

“Logan, I need –” the other man began, but Logan cut him off.

“I got ya, Slim,” he said, batting Scott’s hands out of the way and grasping the other man’s cock. He was still semi-erect as he leaned forward again, bracing himself on one hand to kiss Scott, his other hand continuing to stroke. Scott kissed back greedily, thrusting into Logan’s hand. Logan smirked at the other man’s eagerness, pulling out of him with an audible wet sound so that he could lie on his side, one leg slung across Summers’ body. All the while, he continued to stoke. A few more pumps, followed by a small grunt and Scott was spilling in his hand, droplets landing on his chest and belly. Logan milked him through his orgasm, and before Scott was finished, he had leaned over and begun licking the come off the other man’s chest, returning the earlier favor.

Sated, Summers was like a contented cat. He stretched once and then seemed to melt into the bed. When he turned his head in Logan’s direction, Logan bent down for another kiss. The kiss was sloppy, salty and a little bitter, but like everything else they’d done, Logan savored it. 

Afterwards, Logan also stretched himself out on the bed, properly this time. Scott, however, couldn’t be bothered to move and he lay in the same position, perpendicular to Logan and using Logan’s stomach as a pillow. Logan didn’t mind, his right hand absently stroking through Summers’ hair. He let Scott doze. He was about to drift off himself when Scott suddenly spoke. 

“What time is it?” 

Logan cracked open an eye and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “Five-forty,” he answered, shutting his eye again. He focused when Scott sat up. 

“I need to take a shower,” the other man said. “I’ll meet you at the bar at six.” 

Logan instinctively reached out, grabbing Scott’s arm before he could pull away. Scott glanced at Logan’s hand before his gaze traveled to Logan’s face. The smile on his face was soft. Logan memorized it. Scott had never looked at him that way before, like he was a lover, a confidant. In the afterglow of what they’d done, everything still felt like a dream. The dream continued as Scott leaned over and placed a chase kiss on his lips. 

“I’ll meet you at the bar at six,” he repeated. 

“Could always take a shower here,” Logan prompted, unwilling to release him. 

Scott chuckled. “My clothes are next door,” he reminded the other man. 

Logan sort of grunted in response. 

“Six,” Scott said again. “At the bar. Don’t be late.” 

Logan finally let go and Scott slid to the side of the bed. He began picking up his clothes from the floor and started to dress. Logan appreciated the view. When Scott stood up, he was tucking his now-rumpled oxford shirt into his khakis. 

“Don’t forget,” Scott said to him. “We’re still on a mission.” 

Logan sighed. “You got it, boss,” he replied, watching as Scott left the room.

* * *

For a change, Logan took Scott’s predilection for punctuality seriously. He didn’t want anything to dampen the good mood that had fallen between them, and he left his room with five minutes to spare. Five minutes was plenty of time for him to get down to the bar by 6:00pm. As he was locking his room, Logan saw the same maid when he and Scott had first entered the inn. Logan had noticed her then as well. She was striking, not least because of her fierce red hair cut short in a stylish bob. There was something about her that reminded Logan of Jean, and he distantly wondered if the same thought had crossed Summers’ mind. She smiled at him as she walked by, and Logan returned her smile with a friendly nod.

Logan pushed Jean out of his thoughts as he walked down the stairs. The inn’s main restaurant and bar were to the left, opposite the reception area. When he entered, he zeroed in on Summers sitting at the bar. He was the only patron there. Logan couldn’t help but grin at the other man’s outfit – a neat white oxford shirt and khakis. 

“What? Ya packed the same outfit?” Logan asked, good-humoredly, as he sidled up to Scott at the bar. “Doesn’t that qualify as a uniform?” he teased.

His team leader was nursing a tumbler of hard liquor, which Logan found a little unusual. Macallan, by the smell of it. Aged 12 years. Fine oak. He approved. He motioned to the bartender, who was already on his way to them, that he’d have the same drink. The bartender turned away to prepare it. 

Scott didn’t answer Logan’s question. He let the joke slide as though he hadn’t heard it. He simply glanced at Logan and said, “Thought you were planning to be here earlier. Didn’t you want to get information from the bartender?” 

Logan shrugged. “That was the plan,” he agreed. “But after our exercise, I thought I’d get some shuteye. Save some energy for the investigation.” 

Scott’s brow crinkled in confusion, but before he could reply, the bartender reappeared with Logan’s scotch. Logan took a drink, appreciating Scott’s choice. This was a big step up from beer. Scott stood up while Logan drank. With his own drink in hand, Summers began heading for the al fresco dining area. In an even better mood thanks to the Macallan, Logan followed. 

Apparently, Scott had already reserved a table because a waitress politely greeted and ushered them to what was probably the best table on the terrace. Logan wasn’t surprised. He sat down opposite the other man while the waitress went through the evening specials. He surveyed the area as Scott ordered. Only two other tables were occupied, one by a young couple, the other by a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties. He was dressed in rugged gear compared to their surroundings. Logan thought he might be an off-season hunter. 

“Logan,” Scott said, to get his attention. 

“I’ll have the same,” Logan answered immediately, glancing at their waitress. 

She smiled and nodded. “Very good, sir,” she said. “The soup will be served shortly,” she told them, before leaving them alone. 

“Were you even paying attention to what I ordered?” Scott asked him. 

“Nope,” Logan admitted, picking up his tumbler again. He held it up. “But since you ordered Macallan, I trust your taste.” 

Summers’ expression was thoughtful. He seemed to be scrutinizing Logan. He glanced down briefly before looking up again. The expression on his face was one that Logan recognized. It meant that Cyclops had come to a decision about something. 

“Did anything unusual happen to you before you came here?” 

Logan was amused. “Is that a trick question, Cyke?” He took another drink. In front of him, Summers didn’t laugh, didn’t smile. He wasn’t sharing in Logan’s good humor. Instead, he looked deadly serious, in full Cyclops mode. Slightly unsettled, Logan placed his tumbler on the table and leaned forward. “What do you mean, ‘unusual’?” he asked, equally serious now.

Scott mirrored his actions, dropping his voice in the knowledge that Logan would hear his words with perfect clarity. “There’s definitely something strange going on here,” he said. “I’m not sure if it’s our mystery mutant or if it’s something else, but…” he hesitated, glancing around them before focusing on Logan again. “I just experienced one of the most realistic hallucinations I’ve ever had. I’m talking Lady Mastermind levels of illusion, possibly more powerful.” 

“How do ya know it was an illusion?” Logan questioned. 

Scott shook his head, remembering. “Because it couldn’t have possibly been real,” he replied. “It was like someone had tapped into my unconscious, pulled out my deepest desire and then manifested it. It felt real, Logan. I _wanted_ it to be real, but I knew in my heart that it wasn’t.”

Logan could feel his skin crawling as Scott had spoken. His team leader’s experience sounded disturbingly familiar. “What’s your deepest desire, Cyke?” he asked, not really expecting Summers to answer. 

Scott was looking at him warily, scrutinizing him again. Logan didn’t wilt under the ruby gaze. “After we parted, I went to my room,” he began. “It was only a few seconds before the door opened and Jean stepped inside. She looked radiant, and I knew – I just _knew_ – that we were on our honeymoon.”

Scott fell silent and Logan didn’t push. He didn’t want to hear anymore; he could imagine the rest. He was also going over his own experience in his room. The pattern was the same. A few moments after he’d entered his room, there had been a knock on his door. Except it hadn’t been Jean standing there, it had been Scott. What had Summers said? Someone or something had tapped into his deepest desire. Well, if Logan couldn’t have admitted it before, he could certainly admit it now. Scott Summers was his deepest desire. His long-held fantasy was that one day Scott would turn to him, like he did on that fateful day on Alkali Lake, and Logan would be the one to comfort him, to console him, to care for him. He wanted Scott to be healthy, and happy, and safe. And Logan had been hoping that maybe sometime in the future Scott might let Logan give him those things, or at least give him the opportunity to try. It was a fantasy, a pure fantasy, but for forty minutes in his hotel room, the fantasy had been real. 

“Logan.” 

Logan started, realizing that Scott had been speaking to him. 

“Are you sure nothing happened to you?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Logan lied. 

“Well, that doesn’t mean that something _won’t_ happen,” Scott went on, the strategist in him thinking ahead. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with. The best-case scenario is it’s a mutant who can’t control his or her powers. Maybe they don’t even realize that they’re doing anything.”

“Worst case scenario?” Logan posed, trying to focus. His thoughts kept flitting to the two of them in bed, and he had to keep reminding himself that it hadn’t been real. It hadn’t been real. While he’d fantasized about being with Summers, Scott had been with the love of his life. 

“Experimentation. Torture. Possibly something systemic.” Scott fell silent again, considering the possibilities. 

“Hey,” Logan said suddenly, remembering a detail about his own hallucination. “Did you feel anything before your hallucination started?” 

“Such as?” 

“I dunno. Like, maybe a headache?” 

“Now that you mention it,” Scott said thoughtfully. “I did have a slight headache before Jean appeared.” His gaze sharpened on Logan. “Are you sure nothing happened to you?” he asked again. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Logan said testily. He stood up abruptly. “I need to go to the washroom,” he told the other man. “Be back in a bit.” 

Logan didn’t wait for the other man’s response. He left the terrace and headed for the men’s room, feeling Scott’s gaze on his retreating back. 

* * *

Scott watched the other man leave. Wolverine wasn’t one to get flustered, but he’d definitely been agitated when he’d left. Logan was lying to him. Scott was certain of it. He sighed and took a sip of Macallan. This mission was already proving to be more complicated than he’d anticipated. He only hoped that Wolverine wouldn’t add to the problem.


	2. Reset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, everyone, for all your encouragement. I promise I'll reply to your comments shortly. In the meantime, I'm posting the next chapter before I'm hit with some big deadlines at work. Sometimes writing fanfic is all about beating those deadlines. :P

Logan pushed open the heavy wooden door of the men’s room and stormed inside. He was greeted with more wood paneling, and a mercifully empty men’s room. There were three stalls to the left; opposite the stalls were three porcelain sinks and a long mirror. Logan went to the nearest sink and splashed his face with water. His head was pounding, the room spinning slightly. He gripped the sink on either side and looked into the mirror. 

“Get it together, bub,” he told his reflection. 

The heavy door to the right of him swung open and Scott Summers came inside. Summers was his usual cool and collected self, and Logan inwardly groaned. He could not deal with this shit right now. He eyed Summers as the other man made a quick sweep of the restroom, his gaze finally landing on Logan. 

“Are we alone?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Logan told him with a sigh, straightening up. 

“You lied to me back there,” Scott told him flatly. It wasn’t an accusation, just a matter-of-fact statement from a pragmatic team leader. “If you experienced something that affects the mission, I need to know. I’m not here to judge you, Logan.” 

_Judgment was relative_, Logan thought, even as he recognized that Summers was right. He _did_ need to know about Logan’s hallucination; he just didn’t need to know the specifics. He let out an exasperated sigh and glared at the other man.

“You were right,” he ground out. “I had a hallucination too, but I didn’t know it when it was happening. Only figured it out when ya began talkin’ about it. Should’ve known though,” he muttered to himself. “Damn thing was too good to be true.” 

“But it felt real,” Scott pressed. “Believable.” 

“Real as this conversation we’re havin’ now,” Logan pointed out. “Believable?” He shook his head. “Maybe not so much. Whaddya call it? Somebody tappin’ into our deepest desires? That alone shoulda told me it wasn’t real.” 

Scott nodded. “Don’t beat yourself up about it, Logan,” he said. “The hallucination I had was flawless, perfect in every way. The main reason I knew it wasn’t real is because Jean is dead.” 

Logan glanced at the other man. He sensed and heard the underlying anger in Scott’s tone. Somebody was trying to control them for some reason, and they were trying to use Scott’s dead fiancé to do it. Bad idea. Those folks were in big trouble when Cyclops got to the bottom of this mess. Logan was thankful that Scott was too preoccupied to ask about the specifics of his hallucination. He wasn’t too inclined to share. 

“So, what’s the next move?” he asked instead. 

“We need to find the source,” Scott said. “We need to find what’s causing these hallucinations. We also need to monitor the hallucinations – their intensity and their frequency.” 

“Yer assuming we’re gonna have more,” Logan said, warily. 

“We have to assume the worst,” Scott told him. “In fact, we have to assume that we’re not the only ones under the spell of these hallucinations.” 

“The other guests?” Logan supplied.

“Maybe even the staff,” Scott added. 

Logan nodded in agreement. It made sense. Cyclops always made sense. That was one of the things Logan had quickly learned about the other man once they began working regularly together in the field. Cyclops was a strategist. He adapted seamlessly to the conditions in the field. No wonder Xavier had chosen him to lead. 

“Do you want to tell me about your hallucination?” Scott asked, into the short silence that had fallen between them. 

Logan shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. “Not much to tell,” he replied. 

Summers gave him a rare, wry grin. “Somehow I doubt that,” he said quietly. “There’s nothing insignificant about our deepest desires.” Scott paused. “I shared mine with you,” he added, trying a different approach. 

Logan scoffed, but it wasn’t mean-spirited. “Yeah, but yours was predictable,” he said. “Who wouldn’t want the love of their life back? Jeannie was godamned perfect.” 

“Yeah, she was,” Scott agreed. He sounded wistful. 

Logan recognized the soft expression on the other man’s face. It was the expression he’d memorized from his own hallucination, only this time the expression made sense since Scott was thinking of _Jean_. Then Scott’s look abruptly changed, as though he’d just realized something.

“Don’t tell me your hallucination had to do with Jean?” he suggested, somehow sounding both surprised and nonplussed at the same time, as if he expected Logan’s answer to be ‘yes.’ 

At that point, Logan had to laugh. He couldn’t help it. “I wish it had to do with Jean,” he admitted. “That’d be easier…and expected, I s’ppose.” 

“Expected,” Scott mused. “So, your hallucination was _un_expected. What qualifies as ‘unexpected’?”

That sounded like a rhetorical question to Logan, but to his own surprise he answered it. There was a part of him that _wanted_ Scott to know. 

“You,” he said simply. 

“Me?” Scott said, uncomprehendingly. Then he grinned. “Is your deepest desire to murder me? That’s not all that unexpected really.” 

Summers had just cracked a rare joke with him. Logan wished he could appreciate it, but the betrayal of his own desires still felt too raw. He shook his head and glanced away. 

“Logan,” Scott said, and suddenly the other man was in his personal space. 

Logan felt overwhelmed by the nearness of him. Scott had that soft expression again. It was compassionate and understanding, and this time, it was directed at him. 

“Shit,” Logan said aloud. “It’s happening again.” 

“What’s happening again?” 

“This,” Logan said, gesturing between them. “This isn’t real.” 

“What?” 

“I’m having another hallucination.”

“How do you know that?” 

“This,” Logan said, grabbing the other man and kissing him. Scott tensed for a moment, but then he returned the kiss. Logan felt his heart ache. Scott’s actions were all the confirmation that he needed. When the kiss ended, he was resting his forehead against the other man’s. He sighed. “You’d never let me kiss you.” 

Scott’s hands had fallen on Logan’s waist. “Well, I don’t know about that,” he chided. 

Logan lifted his head and sighed again. “I do,” he said, tiredly. “This isn’t real.” 

It was telling that the Scott-hallucination didn’t contradict him. Logan marveled at the verisimilitude. Whoever was doing this had captured Summers completely: his mannerisms, his attitudes, his thought-processes. Logan had been fooled again. If the real Scott hadn’t told him about his own hallucination, Logan might have been fooled – willingly – for even longer. 

“I’m going to blow you,” Logan said, suddenly. 

“What?” Scott was laughing. “What will that prove?” 

Logan shook his head. “Nothin',” he replied. “Except I ain’t gonna waste this opportunity.” 

It was telling again that Summers didn’t resist as Logan dragged him to the nearest stall. This may have been a hallucination, but Logan still wanted privacy.

* * *

Scott glanced at his watch. Logan was taking a long time in the washroom. The soup had already been served and was getting cold. He was about to get up and check on the other man when Logan appeared on the terrace. Scott’s tension eased when he saw him. Logan looked better. The agitation that Scott remembered was gone. If anything, the other man looked more relaxed. He joined Scott at their table and said without any preamble:

“Yer right about the hallucinations. I just had one.” 

Scott raised a brow. “You mean while you were in the men’s room,” he translated. 

Logan sort of grunted, already digging into his soup. Scott held back a sigh. He’d been polite and waited for Logan before starting to eat, but the Wolverine just wasn’t known for his manners. He contemplated asking what the hallucination had been about, but realized that he didn’t really want to know what Logan’s deepest desire was. It was the sort of insight that he’d probably find disturbing. Instead, the strategist in him was thinking of what to do next. 

“We need to find the source of the hallucinations,” he began. “And we need to monitor our own hallucinations, assuming that they happen again.” 

“Monitor their intensity and their frequency,” Logan added. 

“That’s right,” Scott said, a little surprised at Logan’s input. 

“S’ppose we’re also workin’ under the assumption that the other guests might be affected as well,” Logan went on. “Maybe even the staff.” 

Scott sat back and stared at the other man. That was _exactly_ what he’d been thinking. It almost seemed as if Logan had pulled those thoughts out of his head, and as far as he knew, telepathy wasn’t one of the Wolverine’s abilities.

“Then what?” Logan asked, pushing his soup bowl away. He’d devoured it just in time for their filet mignons to arrive. Scott still hadn’t touched his soup. 

“I’m going to contact the Professor,” Scott said, finally picking up his soupspoon. “I’ll let him know what’s going on here. We might need backup.” 

Logan nodded, already concentrating on his entrée. “I’ll start looking around,” he said, cutting his beef. “See what I can find.”

* * *

Scott returned to his room after dinner to make the call back to the Institute, while Logan went back to the bar to have a chat with the bartender. Logan’s earlier comment about getting some shuteye still didn’t make sense to him, and he distantly wondered if it had something to do with Logan’s hallucination. He put that thought away for now.

He was walking towards the phone on the bedside table when he felt it again – a dull throb in the back of his head. It was a little stronger this time, but nothing compared to the migraines he used to suffer when his power first manifested. Scott had a very high pain tolerance when it came to headaches. He knew, as the headache dimmed, that Jean was in the room with him again. Logan had been right about this detail. The headaches were a marker than a hallucination was coming on. (And it confirmed that Logan had had a hallucination before he told Scott about the one in the men’s room.) 

“Scott, this is lovely,” Jean said. Scott looked to his left and there she was, standing by the bureau holding a figurine. She smiled at him. “I’m going to try and find something similar for our room.” 

Jean was wearing a silk negligee and a matching robe. In his mind’s eye, Scott imagined that the robe and negligee were a deep red, matching the red hair that fell around her shoulders in soft waves. She looked like she’d just finished preparing for bed. He felt his chest constrict, as it had done the first time she’d appeared. It physically hurt to look at her. _This isn’t real_, Scott silently told himself, as Jean walked towards him.

“Where have you been?” she asked. 

“Dinner,” Scott said, covering her hand with his own when she grasped his arm. 

“You mean ‘work,’” she translated, chiding him softly. 

Scott looked away from her. “I have to make a call,” he told her. 

“Scott.” Jean’s gentle teasing had transformed into a hint of warning. “No working on our honeymoon. The Professor, Storm, Hank – they can handle whatever comes up. This is _our_ time.” 

Scott looked back at her. “I wish that were true, Jean,” he said, squeezing her hand gently. “You have no idea how much I miss you.” 

“I’m right here.” 

“No,” Scott said, shaking his head. “You’re not.” He pried Jean’s grip from his arm. “You’re a hallucination.” Scott began walking to the phone again, aware of Jean shadowing him. 

“A hallucination?” Jean repeated, amused. “Is this some kind of new game?” 

“It’s not a game,” Scott said, reaching for the phone. Before he could pick up the receiver, Jean grabbed his hand and spun him around. 

“I can think of lots of other games we can play,” she suggested, pulling him towards the bed.

Scott stopped her in her tracks, grabbing both her arms and pinning them to her sides. “This isn’t real,” he said, only this time he wasn’t talking to Jean. Scott shut his eyes. “This isn’t real,” he repeated. 

Scott was psi-null, but his deep telepathic bond with Jean and his experiences with the Professor had taught him how to withstand a telepathic intrusion. For a psi-null, Scott knew he had formidable shields. This Jean-hallucination was different. He couldn’t feel anyone probing his mind, so he knew this wasn’t a telepathic intrusion. These hallucinations were being created in another way.

His former telepathic bond with Jean was another indicator that she was only a hallucination. He couldn’t feel her presence in his mind, her familiar warmth and love. This Jean was just a mirage. A flawless mirage, down to her mannerisms and speech patterns, but a mirage nonetheless. Instinct told Scott that he had to break the hallucination’s hold. The first time he’d allowed the hallucination to run its course because he’d wanted to believe in its reality so much, because he’d missed Jean and because his analytic mind had been trying to gather as much information as possible. Now instinct told him that the longer he stayed in the hallucination, the more dangerous the situation became. This hallucination was greater in intensity, even more faultless in its execution. There was a real possibility that as the hallucinations increased in intensity that the victim might become trapped in a permanent hallucinatory state, no longer able to tell the difference between the hallucination and reality. Scott could understand the appeal. The hallucinations were a deep, unconscious form of wish fulfillment. There were many people who would rather live in the freedom of a fantasy world rather than their grim reality. 

“This isn’t real,” Scott said one more time, willing the hallucination away. He had to stop participating. The hallucination would end if he no longer engaged it. He took a deep breath, feeling his body relax and the dull throb in his head fading away into a whisper. 

“This isn’t real.”

Scott opened his eyes. Jean was gone. Where he’d been holding her arms only a moment before, now he was grasping air. He exhaled – it was a sigh of relief – and went back to the phone. He picked it up. There was no dial tone. He hit the reset button a few times. Still no dial tone. He put the receiver back down. He went to his duffel bag, remembering that he’d left his cell phone inside. He glanced at the cell’s screen. No signal. Of course. Scott slipped the cell phone into the pocket of his slacks, and pulled out the foldable visor from the duffel bag. He put the visor in his other pants pocket. He had a feeling that he might need it, sooner rather than later. His thoughts returned to the communication problem at hand. Best-case scenario? The phone lines were down for ‘normal’ reasons. The inn was isolated. Maybe cellular reception was naturally poor. Worst-case scenario? Someone was jamming the cellular signal and had cut off the phone lines to boot. Scott made up his mind to try the front desk. Maybe Melissa’s phone was still working. 

Scott left his room and headed downstairs. He passed by Logan’s door, wondering if the other man was inside or if he was still at the bar. Scott didn't knock. Instead, he went straight to the lobby where he caught Melissa just coming out of the back office. 

“Ah, Melissa,” he said. “I was hoping to see you. The phone in my room isn’t working and I can’t get any signal on my cell,” he explained. “Would you mind if I use the phone at the front desk?” 

“Certainly,” Melissa replied. She picked up the receiver of the front desk phone and placed it to her ear. Her face fell. “I’m sorry,” she said, putting the receiver back down. “This phone isn’t working either.” She looked at him apologetically. “There was a big storm two days ago,” she told him. “It took out all the phone lines in this area. The telephone company finally got things up and running again yesterday, but the signal has been patchy. Keeps cutting in and out. If you try again later, the phones will probably be back up. Is your call urgent?” she asked with some concern. 

Scott shook his head. “No,” he said, so as not to arouse her suspicions. “It can wait.”

He couldn’t be sure that Melissa wasn’t lying to him. He wanted to test the front desk phone himself, and check if the phone in Logan’s room was also dead. Then he’d have a better idea if Melissa were a part of whatever was happening at the inn.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Melissa asked him. 

“No, I’m fine. Thanks,” Scott said smoothly. 

He turned away and walked to the bar. Logan wasn’t there. Aside from the bartender, who was polishing glasses, the place was empty. The restaurant terrace was empty as well, and looked like it was about to close for the night. Scott waited until Melissa was gone and came out again. She’d left the lobby, going to the back of the inn. Scott quickly glanced around before sneaking behind the registration counter. Immediately, he picked up the phone. No dial tone. So, Melissa hadn’t been lying about that. Still, that didn’t solve his problem of being cut off from the outside world. 

Scott came out from behind the registration counter deep in thought. He had a bad feeling about everything. Being cut off was a serious disadvantage. Then he remembered the newly installed tracking device in his car. It utilized a different signal, but it was still working. If something was jamming his cell phone, perhaps it was localized to the inn. Maybe it didn’t extend as far as the parking lot. He had to try. Scott headed for the inn entrance. He’d only taken a few steps outside when he was hit by another headache, much more intense than the ones before. _Shit_. He staggered under the sharp, spiking pain, his hands gripping his head. The pain ebbed slightly, but it was still there, throbbing against his hands.

“There you are.” 

Jean was walking towards him from the side of the inn. This time she was wearing a pale summer dress with spaghetti straps. The dress was probably white, but came out as pink-hued through Scott’s ruby quartz glasses. 

“It’s such a lovely evening, Scott,” she said, walking up in the inn steps to where Scott was standing. “Let’s go for a walk in the garden.” 

Scott shook his head. “No,” he said, stubbornly. 

Her laugh tinkled in his ears. “You are being such a grump,” she admonished. “It’s our honeymoon.” She held onto his arm and began tugging him down the steps. “Remember how we used to go on those long walks on the school grounds?” she said to him. “We haven’t done that in a while. Let’s make up for lost time.” 

Scott’s head was spinning. The truth of Jean’s words clashed with the knowledge that she was an illusion. He resisted the pull of her words and her actions and his own desire. He gripped the railing of the steps and crouched down, almost balling himself into a fetal position. 

“No,” he said, forcefully, Jean still holding his arm. She was leaning over him now, her face etched with concern. 

“Scott?” she said, her voice growing distant. “Scott, what’s wrong?” 

Scott looked beyond her and saw a round, silver disk near one of the two lamps lighting the inn’s entrance. It looked like a smoke detector. _What a strange place to put a smoke detector_, was his last thought before he blacked out.

* * *

“He’s done it again,” a man said. He was sitting in front of a console, a wide bank of monitors in front of him. There were cameras in every room in the inn, in all the communal spaces, and in the immediate areas outdoors. There were cameras wherever their signal could reach. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Who?” Melissa asked, peering over his shoulder. 

Jason, her husband, pointed to a monitor on the right side that showed the entrance to the inn and the crouched figure on the inn steps. 

“Your favorite,” he said, dryly. “The one you called ‘handsome.’”

“He _is_ handsome,” Melissa defended. 

“Well, your _handsome_ favorite,” Jason went on, “just stopped participating in his hallucination…again.” He tapped one of the indicators on the console. “Do you see that? The signal’s almost at full strength and somehow, he still managed to break it. He’s gonna have a helluva headache when he wakes up.” 

“I wish we could see into his head,” Melissa mused. “He’s an unusual subject.” 

“You’d need another mutant with a different set of skills for that,” Jason told her. “We need to get him back to his room before he wakes up.” 

“And what about his companion?”

“His companion’s not resisting the illusions,” Jason answered. “But his response has also been different. He’s very active. The other guests are self-contained. Once they’re trapped by their hallucination, they generally remain in their rooms. They become passive, like they’re supposed to be, reliving some version of their hallucination again and again. This one,” Jason tapped at a screen where a camera was following Logan’s actions. “He keeps roaming around like he’s looking for something. I don’t know what the hell his hallucination is.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Melissa said dismissively. “The signal is still working on him. There’s always bound to be outliers in an experiment.” She returned her attention to Scott. “His friend is special. Get him back to his room and keep a close eye on him. I have a feeling Nathaniel would like to know about him.”


	3. I'll Be There

Logan was walking along the third floor hallway with the Scott-hallucination accompanying him. The third time the Scott-hallucination had appeared was when Logan had re-entered his room after leaving the bar. That time, Logan had known instantly that Scott had been a hallucination. Summers just wouldn’t appear in his room like that after they’d parted ways so soon. It followed the same pattern as the men’s washroom (and, of course, the first crushing hallucination).

This time Logan welcomed the hallucination. A part of him recognized that this was probably dangerous, and that the real Cyclops would almost certainly not approve of his actions. But another part of Logan just didn’t care. Now that his feelings had rushed to the surface, there was no burying them again…at least, not so quickly. When this mission was over, maybe he could take a break, get away from the school (and the real Scott) so that he could clear his head. _Running away again_, he could hear Rogue accusing him, but Logan knew that this time was different. He’d come back to the school. Summers alone guaranteed that.

The other reason that Logan welcomed the hallucination was because he thought he could use it to his advantage, maybe turn whoever was doing this against that person. He’d learned from his second encounter in the men’s room, and the subsequent conversation with the real Scott at dinner, that the Scott-hallucination was so realistic, so complete in its formation that it had even copied Scott’s thought-processes. Logan didn’t know how the hallucinations worked specifically. (He figured that Cyclops would have a better understanding just because the other man had more experience in that particular field.) But he had two guesses. The first was that the hallucination had been pulled from his mind. (How else had these people known that Summers was his deepest desire?) But if the hallucination had been taken from him, it implied that he _knew_ Summers well enough to replicate Cyclops’s thought-processes. That was a disturbing thought. Of course, the other possibility was equally disturbing, namely, that someone had recognized Cyclops in Logan’s unconscious and had taken the thought-processes directly from the real Scott Summers. Logan shook his head. It gave him a headache just thinking about it. Whatever the reason, the Scott-hallucination was helping him with the investigation. 

“Anything?” the Scott-hallucination asked. 

“_Nada_,” Logan replied.

There was nothing unusual going on as far as Logan could tell. The only guests on the third floor were the couple from the dinner, and they were going at it like rabbits in their room. Cyclops wouldn’t need hyper-senses to hear that. The other guest – the off-season hunter as Logan called him – was on the same floor as them, but further down the hallway. Logan had heard him speaking to someone in his room – it sounded like he was talking his brother. The guy could’ve been talking on the phone, but Logan thought it more likely that he was also having a hallucination, one that involved his brother. 

“This is a dead end, Cyke,” he said. “Whatever’s goin’ on, we ain’t gonna find our answers here.” He heard approaching steps and the faint smell of cinnamon. 

“Mr. Howlett.” 

Logan quickly turned around. It was the red-haired maid from earlier. “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” she explained. “But something’s happened to your friend.” 

“Scott?” Logan questioned, immediately concerned. 

“Mr. Summers was found outside the inn steps,” the woman went on. “He was unconscious. We’ve brought him back to his room. If you would come with me…” She turned around to escort Logan. 

Logan glanced beside him where he’d been speaking to the Scott-hallucination a moment before. The hallucination was gone. He took a deep breath and followed the maid back to Scott’s room.

* * *

When Scott came to, he was aware of not being alone. The figure that had been restlessly pacing nearby was instantly at his side, leaning over him.

“Hey, Cyke.” 

_Logan_. 

Scott was relieved, and also a little surprised at the worry that he saw on Logan’s face. The look of concern seemed to extend beyond the usual worry for a teammate, and he didn’t think Logan would care _that_ much. 

“How long was I out?” he asked, his voice slightly groggy. 

“About two hours?” Logan answered. He straightened up, the worry fading into something more detached. _That_ was the Logan with whom Scott was more familiar. 

“Have you been here all this time?”

Scott tried to sit up, wondering if Logan had been pulling bedside duty for two hours. It seemed like unusual behavior. _Maybe not_, he mentally revised. They were in a dangerous situation, after all. Logan wouldn’t leave him defenseless against their unknown enemies. They may not have gotten along well on a personal level, but Scott had learned over the past year that Logan was a great teammate. Loyal. Dependable. Steadfast. And they were still on a mission. 

Logan put a firm hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. “Melissa found ya on the inn steps,” he said, ignoring the question. “Said ya collapsed there.” 

“That’s one way of putting it,” Scott muttered. He didn’t try to get up again, instead putting a hand to his head. It throbbed with a dull kind of pain. He had a hangover headache, the kind that he rarely experienced anymore. 

“How’s the head?” 

“Hurts.” 

“Ya, the doc said you’d probably wake up with a headache.” 

“The doc?” Scott repeated with surprise. “What doctor?” 

“Melissa’s husband.” 

“I thought he was the co-proprietor.” 

Logan shrugged. “Turns out he’s also a doctor of some kind. Useful, I s’ppose. Havin’ a doctor on the premises in an isolated area.” 

Logan was saying one thing, but his tone was saying something else. Scott could hear the doubt and suspicion there and he shared in the sentiment. “Did he give me anything?” he asked. 

The other man’s expression was pure exasperation. “Whaddya take me for, Cyke?” he lightly accused. 

Scott couldn’t help but grin in response. 

“Ya gonna tell me what really happened to you?” 

“How many hallucination have you had?” 

Logan shifted uncomfortably. “Three,” he finally said. 

“Same,” Scott murmured. “The last one was by the inn steps, but it was different from the others. The other hallucinations felt natural, and that’s one of the reasons they were so convincing. But this one…this one felt forced.” He looked at Logan. “You were right about the headaches. They’re markers for the hallucinations. When I got outside, I was hit with a headache so painful it was almost debilitating.”

“And that’s why ya passed out,” Logan finished for him. He sat down at the side the bed, surprising Scott for the second time. 

“I think someone’s trying to keep us here,” Scott went on, aware now of Logan’s proximity. It felt a little comforting, somehow. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell. “Still no signal,” he told Logan. “Can you check the landline?” 

Logan leaned over and picked up the receiver. He shook his head, putting the receiver back in its cradle. 

“What about the phone in your room?” 

“Haven’t tried it,” Logan admitted. 

“The phone at the front desk is also dead,” Scott told him. “Melissa said it was due to a storm, but I have my doubts.” 

Logan snorted. “No landlines and no cell phone signal? You collapsing outside the inn after being hit with a monster headache?” He shook his head. “Yeah, that’s not a coincidence.” 

“What about the other guests?” 

“That couple at dinner have been havin’ sex for hours,” Logan said. “And the other guy? He’s been having a long-running conversation with his brother who I’m a hundred percent certain is _not_ in the room with him.” 

“And what about you?” 

“I'm managin’,” Logan said, somewhat evasively.

Scott nodded. “You can counter the hallucinations,” he said. 

“How?” 

“Just disengage. Once you stop participating in the hallucination, it ends. If you can recognize that you’re having one,” Scott said. “You can end it.” 

Logan nodded, deep in thought. “That’s what yer doin’?” he finally asked. 

“I’ve done it twice,” Scott informed him. “I suspect that’s why the third hallucination on the inn steps was so painful. I don't know how these people are creating them – maybe through a signal of some kind – but they must’ve upped the dosage on me. Maybe they were afraid that I’d get out of their range.” He looked at the hard line of Logan’s shoulders. The other man seemed tense. “Are your hallucinations getting stronger?” 

“I don’t think so,” Logan said, after considering the question. “I can’t really tell the way you can. But the headaches haven’t gotten worse. I barely notice them now.” 

“That doesn’t sound too good, actually,” Scott replied. If Logan’s headaches weren’t getting stronger, it likely meant that he was accepting the hallucination. Unlike Scott’s case, there wasn’t any need to ‘up’ Logan’s dosage. “You’re engaging your hallucination?” 

Logan shifted, and Scott could see the other man’s unease. “Engagin’ seems a bit strong,” he said. “The hallucination ain’t hindering me in the investigation. Might even argue that it’s helpin’ me.” 

“Helping? How?” 

“Let’s just say that my hallucination’s got a real logical mind.” 

Scott let Logan’s cryptic words slide. The other man had been behaving erratically since they’d arrived at the inn. No doubt the hallucinations had something to do with that. His attention was caught by the metallic disk on the ceiling and he raised himself onto his elbows. This time, Logan didn’t push him back down. Instead, Logan’s gaze traveled in the same direction to see what Scott was looking at. 

“Can you pull that down?” Scott asked. 

“What? The smoke detector?” 

“Yes. I saw one just like it outside before I passed out.” 

Logan got up. “Sorry Cyke,” he said, before getting up on the bed – dirty shoes and all – in order to reach the smoke detector. He unscrewed the disk from the ceiling and then yanked it out, pulling out the wires and cords that came with it. He looked it over as he got off the bed. “Pretty high tech for a smoke detector,” he commented, passing the device to Scott. 

By now, Scott was sitting up fully, leaning against the pillows. He took the device from Logan and examined it as well. 

“It’s still active,” Logan told him. 

“How do you know that?” 

“’Cos I can hear it. Whatever it is, it’s giving off a beepin’ sound. Funny, seein’ as I pulled it out of the wall.” 

Scott couldn’t hear a thing, but if Logan’s hyper-senses could hear beeping, then Scott believed him. He fiddled with the device some more, eventually sliding back a metal sheet on the side of its cylindrical surface. It revealed a blinking light, which he suspected was the source of the beeping. He showed it to Logan, and the other man put a claw right through it.

“Still hear that beeping sound?” 

“Nope.” 

“It’s a transmitter,” Scott said, pulling out the destroyed chip. 

“Ya think that’s how they’re doin’ it?” 

Scott nodded. “It’s clever,” he said. “And subtle. You’d need smoke detectors in all the rooms to meet safety protocols. That also means…” he trailed off and looked around them. 

“What?” Logan prodded. 

“It also means that we’re probably being watched,” Scott finished. He held up the transmitter. “If this is how the hallucinations are being created, then whoever is doing this needs to be able to monitor their progress.” 

“Fucking guinea pigs in an experiment,” Logan said with disgust. He scanned the room himself. “Cameras could be anywhere,” he pointed out, even as he began running through the likely places. Scott was doing the same thing. 

“The cameras aren’t our primary goal,” Scott told him. “We need to find the source of the signal and shut it down. Otherwise, we might not be able to leave or help the other guests. Who knows how many guests have already been infected.” 

Scott was about to get off the bed, but Logan pushed him back again. 

“No,” the other man said. “You need to rest.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Yer not.” 

“_Logan_.” 

“No.” 

Scott stopped resisting, studying his companion. The concern was back, mixed with a stubborn defiance that Scott recognized all too well. 

“Just rest for a bit,” Logan repeated. “This room is safe. You won’t be havin’ any more hallucinations here. I’ll keep lookin’ around. Ya can catch up with me later.” 

“We’re a team, Logan,” Scott reminded him. 

“Yeah, and I need my team leader to be closer to a hundred percent.” 

Scott almost laughed. “When did you start making so much sense?” he said. 

“When I started spending too much time with you,” Logan retorted.

* * *

Logan understood Scott’s reservations about being left behind. He didn’t like the idea of splitting up either. Summers was right when he’d said that they were a team. But Logan had also been right when he’d insisted that Cyclops needed to rest more. Summers didn’t look too good to him. Logan could tell that the effects of the signal were still affecting the other man. His heart rate was slower than usual; he looked paler; his breathing was a tad shallow. Summers definitely needed more rest. Cyclops wasn’t in the best shape, but Logan was confident that the other man would be able to defend himself if he needed to. Scott had swapped out his ruby quartz glasses for his battle visor before Logan had left the room. The other thing that made him feel better about Scott’s safety was that if they were indeed being watched, then hopefully a Scott Summers resting quietly in his room wouldn’t look like a threat to their enemies. Logan knew that was a blatant lie, but those bastards didn’t. As for himself? He’d been wandering the place for a while, so if he kept doing that, his behavior wouldn’t seem out of line at all.

As if on cue, a familiar voice said, “Where to?” 

The Scott-hallucination was standing beside him again. Logan glanced up. He was almost directly underneath one of the ‘smoke detectors’. He scanned along the ceiling, catching the silver of another smoke detector further down the hallway. The damn transmitters were everywhere. That’s how the hallucinations maintained their strength and consistency. 

_Just disengage_, the real Scott whispered in his head. _If you stop participating in the hallucination, it ends_.

Logan pushed that voice of reason aside. “Was hopin’ you’d tell me, bub,” Logan told the Scott-hallucination. 

The Scott-hallucination nodded. “Didn’t find anything on the third floor,” he said aloud. “It’s probably safe to assume that this floor is the same. It’s all rooms for guests. We should try the ground floor,” he decided. “If there’s some kind of secret lab to be found, it’s probably there.” 

“After you, boss.”

* * *

Scott looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was nearing 2am. Despite his intentions, he’d fallen asleep. Nearly three hours had passed since Logan had left and there was no sign of the other man. Scott sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He felt a lot better. His head had cleared; he felt stronger. His finger automatically went up to the trigger of his visor and he adjusted the power setting, taking it up a notch. He felt the brief flare of his force beam behind the visor before it settled again, the beam kept safely in check by the ruby quartz. It was time to go in search of Logan.

Outside of his room, the lights in the hallway had been dimmed considerably. Scott adjusted another setting on his visor, allowing him to see more clearly in the dimness. He went to the balustrade overlooking the lobby. Downstairs, everything was dark. Only two lamps at the front desk were lit, but no one was manning the counter. 

Scott’s steps were silent on the carpeted floor as he walked downstairs. Even the floorboards didn’t creak beneath his feet. On the ground floor, he paused and considered his options. Where should he start? The wooden sliding doors leading to the bar and the terraced restaurant were shut. He wasn’t about to try the front door again. That left the registration area, the office behind the counter and the back area behind the staircase. He hadn’t been to the back area yet, but he recalled how Melissa had disappeared down that way earlier in the evening. Scott decided to try the familiar first, namely, the office behind the front desk. Paperwork was boring, but it also could reveal some great clues. 

Amazingly, the door to the office was unlocked. _Perhaps it wasn’t that surprising_, Scott thought. The inn had so few guests, and those guests were under the grip of their own hallucinations. Since the inn’s perimeter was also guarded by the mysterious signal, security could afford to be lax. Whoever entered the inn most likely never left. 

Scott entered the office and closed the door behind him. He didn’t flip on the light switch. Instead, he further adjusted the daylight brightness on his visor so that he could see clearly in the darkened room. It was a small, ordinary space. There was a desk to his left, facing a window that overlooked the front of the property. At the back of the room were three filing cabinets. There was a table to his right with a coffeemaker and assorted cookies and snacks. Three chairs were stationed around the table, and a fourth wheeled chair was at the desk. Instinctively, he glanced up at the ceiling. No smoke detector in this room. That pretty much confirmed that Melissa and her husband were in on the experiment. 

He went to the desk. An old-fashioned desk calendar had been left open to the current month. Scott scanned the entries. There were the usual appointments and a rather detailed delivery schedule. A small wedding party had booked the whole inn earlier in the month. Scott flipped the page. He found a separate delivery schedule, exclusively for Ithaca Pharmaceuticals. Scott frowned. Why would an inn have so many deliveries from a pharmaceutical company? His finger traced the neat line of entries. The latest one had just been a few days ago, prior to the supposed storm. He remembered Logan’s admission that Melissa’s husband was also a doctor. Even a thriving practitioner (which Scott didn’t think Jason was) wouldn't need so many supplies. 

Scott turned away from the calendar and went to the filing cabinets at the back. They were organized alphabetically and he pulled out the letter ‘I.’ There was only one folder and it contained the delivery receipts for Ithaca Pharmaceuticals. He didn’t recognize the compounds marked in the delivery forms, but he recognized the logo at the bottom of each receipt. Ithaca Pharmaceuticals was a subsidiary of the Essex Corporation. 

_Shit_. 

Scott pulled out one of the receipts, folded it and tucked it into his pocket. Maybe Blue could make sense of the compounds and figure out what sort of experimentation was going on here. Then he returned the folder to its place in the filing cabinet. 

He needed to find Wolverine.

* * *

“Where the hell have ya been?” Logan snapped.

“You were the one who told me to rest,” Scott reminded him in a hushed voice. He crouched beside the other man. “Besides,” he added. “I’ve been doing some sleuthing of my own.” 

“Find anythin’ interestin’?” 

“Yes,” Scott answered. “This inn receives regular deliveries from Ithaca Pharmaceuticals, which just happens to be a subsidiary of the Essex Corporation.” 

“Fuck.” 

“Exactly. Have you found the source of the signal yet?” 

Logan pointed. “My best guess is it’s behind the ten-inch steel door.”

Scott had followed Logan’s trail rather easily. There had been a lift at the back of the ground floor near the kitchens. On the surface it looked like a service elevator. But once Scott had stepped inside, he’d noticed the button with an arrow that pointed downwards. _A sub-level or basement_, Scott had thought. Of course, that was the button he’d pressed. The service elevator had deposited him into a sub-level, wide and sprawling, that followed a different layout from the inn above. Scott had explored the floor for fifteen minutes before he’d found Wolverine.

During that time, he’d discovered that the sub-level was a full-fledged medical facility. It explained why there were so many deliveries from Ithaca Pharmaceuticals and other medical companies. Melissa’s husband was clearly more than just a small town general practitioner. Along one corridor had been a series of patient rooms. Most of the occupants had been asleep, but others were active, probably trapped in their own hallucinations. They didn’t pay any attention to Scott as he’d walked way. Scott had immediately noticed that there were no ‘smoke detectors’ lining the corridors, unlike the inn above. But when he’d peeked into two of the rooms where the patients were sleeping, he saw the familiar metallic disk in the center of each ceiling. Another wing contained a series of holding cells. Scott had known right away that these cells contained mutants. Unlike the patients, these prisoners wore special collars meant to control them somehow. Scott suspected that they were power dampeners or perhaps explosive devices that would be triggered if someone tried to escape. He reined in his anger. Everything about this place bore Sinister’s mark. What was most disturbing was how Scott hadn’t run into any of Sinister’s crew yet. There was no medical staff to speak of, and there were no guards. It unnerved him. 

Now Scott was crouched beside Wolverine, looking down a white hallway from around a corner. At the end of the hallway was the aforementioned ten-inch steel door. There was a biometric scan next to the door. “Want me to blast it?” he said, only half-joking. 

Wolverine chuckled in response. “And folks say you don’t have a sense of humor,” he commented. 

“Humor is relative,” Scott answered, matter-of-factly. “What one person may find funny, another person might not. It’s the same with horror. Those two genres have a lot of similarities, including the visceral reaction each provokes in its audience, and the wide range of audience reception.” 

Logan shook his head. “Yer such a nerd, Cyke,” he commented, but Scott could hear the warmth and affection in the other man’s tone. It surprised him. “’Course you’d lecture me on comedy and horror in the middle of a mission.” 

Logan glanced at him and Scott was taken aback. If Scott thought he’d mistaken the warmth and affection he’d heard in Logan’s voice, there was no mistaking it in Logan’s expression. It confused him. Wolverine had _never_ looked at him that way before, like they were _friends_. What was going on? 

“If I hadn’t turned up,” Scott said, trying to focus. “What were you planning to do? Claw your way through that door?” 

“Steel ain’t no match for adamantium.” 

_That was true_. 

“’Sides,” Logan added. “I appreciate yer help, but there’s only so much a hallucination can do.” 

_What?!!_

Logan moved to stand up and Scott was too shocked to stop him. Wolverine thought _he_ was a hallucination. But that meant that Logan had been hallucinating about him _all this time_. Scott rebelled at the idea (how could _he_ be Logan’s deepest desire?) even as another part of him could see all the pieces falling into place. Logan’s erratic behavior and earlier comments made sense in the light of this revelation. What had the other man said? His hallucination had a “very logical mind” and was “helping” with the investigation. That was the primary reason Logan had continued to engage his hallucination. What a total mind fuck.

Maybe Logan _did_ want to change the relationship between them; maybe he really _wanted_ to be friends. But maybe he also didn’t know how to go about doing that. They were too engrained in their habits. Worse, Scott would probably have rebuffed that olive branch; may not have even recognized that an olive branch was being offered. But the possibility appealed to him. To have Logan not only as an ally or someone who simply followed orders in the field, but as a _friend_. It would change their dynamic completely, and for the better. It was something Jean would’ve wanted.

“Hey,” Scott said, moving forward and grasping the other man by the shoulder to pull him back. Logan easily complied, looking at Scott expectantly. _There it was again_, Scott thought. The openness. The willingness to listen. The total lack of resistance. Wolverine’s behavior was _distracting_, but it also reinforced the possibilities. 

“Let’s think this through,” Scott said. “We don’t know what’s waiting for us behind that door.” 

“Only one way ta find out,” Logan replied.

Scott sighed. He had a feeling that Logan was right. That is, until he caught something on the edge of his peripheral vision. He motioned towards the end of the hallway and Logan followed the gesture. Melissa and a man had appeared from a side corridor, and they were standing by the biometric scanner. Scott and Logan watched as Melissa keyed in her handprint, followed by a retinal scan. The door slid open and the pair walked inside. 

“Ya know what else I think is behind that door aside from the source of the signal?” Logan asked, looking at Scott again. 

“Probably the surveillance to the entire inn,” Scott answered. It made sense. He hadn’t seen any kind of security room or surveillance center while he’d explored the sub-level, but he knew that it must surely exist. 

Logan nodded. “And ya know what that means, right?” 

Scott’s smile was grim. It meant that they were out of time.


	4. The Heart of Me

The drones appeared from either side of the hallway from the same corridor where Melissa and Jason had emerged. They swarmed down the hallway, answering a question that Logan had been thinking about since he’d discovered the sub-level: _What the hell kind of security did this place_ have? He was about to leap into action, but a red beam fired from beside him. Followed by another. And another. Shocked, Logan could only stare at his companion as Cyclops took down the drones as if they were target practice back at the school. His mind reeled. 

_Fuck._

“Wolverine!” Cyclops barked. “Behind us!”

Logan snapped out of his daze. He turned around in time to see another set of drones attempting to flank them. Logan growled and the claws were out. He charged the drones as they converged on him. Whatever alloys the drones were made of were no match for adamantium. Logan sliced through them like butter, the broken machines dropping to the ground. The drones were firing pellets of some kind. Logan was hit by a few of them. They barely felt like mosquito bites. He couldn’t feel or see any immediate effect, but with the knowledge that Sinister was behind the facility, Logan knew that the pellets were bad news. He could only hope that his healing factor would counter whatever was contained in those things. Behind him, Cyclops was effectively dodging the pellets, the red of his force beam incessantly firing. Summers was doing that impressive acrobatic shit of his where he was using the surface of the walls to refract his beam as he avoided the pellets. No wonder the guy was a math teacher. Logan focused on his swarm of drones. Cyclops was fine. He was doing better than Logan. 

When the drones were bits of broken machinery, the two of them met in the middle of the hallway, a few meters from the steel door. 

“Were you hit?” Logan asked, pushing down the impending freak-out now that Summers knew his shameful secret. 

“Twice,” Scott replied. As if to prove his point, he pulled out one of the pellets from his forearm and held it up. Whatever liquid the small pellet contained had been injected into Scott’s bloodstream. 

“Shit,” Logan said. Scott didn’t have a healing factor to counter the drug. “How do ya feel?” 

Scott shrugged. “I don’t feel anything,” he replied. “Yet. This drug is meant to incapacitate us somehow, but we have to figure out the ‘how.’ What about you?” 

“I got hit at least a dozen times by those fuckers,” Logan said. “But I don’t feel anythin’ either.”

Scott looked at the locked steel door in front of them. “Maybe it’s time to ask our host and hostess about what’s going on,” he suggested. 

Before Logan could respond, Scott had placed his finger on the trigger of his visor and blasted the steel door off its hinges. Logan stepped in front of the other man. Whatever was behind that door, he was gonna go in first. Together, they walked toward the mysterious room. 

Logan thought he’d be prepared for anything, but he was wrong. When he stepped inside, he was transported back to the school. It was a gorgeous spring day. He felt the crispness of the air against his face, smelled the freshness of the flowers. He was standing in the school’s expansive back gardens, which had been decorated for the occasion, wearing an expensive tuxedo with a silk tie. The wedding guests were milling about him…

* * * * *

A few steps inside the room and Scott crumpled to the floor, his head in his hands. God, he was an idiot. If this room truly was the source of the signal, then the signal would be strongest _inside_. Melissa and Jason had been unaffected by it, however, which meant that they had some way to block the signal’s effects. Scott tried to get a layout of the room from his position on the floor. In front of him, Logan had petrified into a statue, no doubt trapped by the most powerful hallucination yet. Scott knew now that the hallucination involved himself. Dimly, through the pain, he thought that maybe he could use that knowledge to his advantage.

Scott shut his eyes, trying to tap down on the debilitating pain. He couldn’t allow himself to pass out, not this time. Too much was at stake. The ruse was over. He wouldn’t wake up again in a hotel room with Logan watching over him. No. Sinister probably knew that he was already there. His cronies were always efficient. Scott wouldn’t allow himself – or Wolverine – to fall into that madman’s clutches again.

He lifted his head, surveying the room through the pain. He couldn’t see Melissa or Jason. Aside from Logan and himself, the room seemed to be free of occupants. What he did see was the bank of monitors. The entire right wall was filled with monitors showing every room, hallway and common area in the inn. In front of the monitors was a console. This was the control center, but where was the signal coming from? 

Scott pushed himself to his knees. Logan still wasn’t moving. 

“Wolverine,” he said, trying to reach for the other man. 

No reaction. 

Scott crawled forward, finally able to grasp the cuff of Logan’s jeans. He tugged. 

“Wolverine!” 

Still no reaction. 

_Godammit_.

Scott needed to get out of the room. He was about to crawl back out the doorway when he saw it. It was hidden in the far corner of the room, almost behind the bank of monitors – a cylindrical tower with glowing periodically rings. The signal generator. If only he could get to his feet, he could take it out with one blast. Using Logan’s body as leverage, Scott began the painful process of pulling himself up. He headache was blurring his vision. He hung onto Logan for a moment, one arm slung around the other man’s shoulders as he tried to steady himself and focus on the generator. He put his finger on the trigger of his visor and pressed. He felt the flare of the optic beam but instead of a bright red light, the force beam was extinguished. Scott could literally feel his power being drained out of him. What the hell was going on?

_The pellets_, he realized with shock. This was what the pellets did. They depowered mutants. No way was it permanent, but it was probably some variation of the so-called cure that had originally been developed by Worthington Industries. Scott didn’t know how long he’d be depowered, but it was definitely long enough to be defeated by their enemies. He had to get out of the room. At this point, Logan was his best bet.

He shifted so that he was standing in front of the other man, their bodies flushed together since he still had an arm about Logan’s shoulders. He needed the support. He couldn’t stand up on his own. He exhaled loudly, forcing back the pain. 

“Hey,” he said, running his fingers down the side of Logan’s face to get his attention. 

Logan leaned into the touch, before grasping Scott’s hand and kissing it. The pain prevented Scott from processing the implications of that action, but it was unimportant. What _was_ important was that he’d finally gotten Logan’s attention. 

“Hey yerself,” Logan said, with a soft, fond smile. “Where you been?” 

“Busy,” Scott told him. 

“Being the perfect host?” Logan teased. He was still clasping Scott’s hand, which he’d brought to rest against his chest. His free arm had encircled Scott’s waist, and Scott was thankful for the support. He allowed Logan to take some of his weight.

“Logan,” Scott said, attempting to cut off any conversation. “I’m not feeling so well.”

Logan’s expression immediately grew concerned. “You comin’ down with something?” he said. Then he grinned. “Most people get cold feet _before_ the ceremony, Scott.” 

Scott could barely follow what was being said. All he knew was that he was losing his battle with that damn signal. He’d pass out soon if he didn’t get out of its range. 

“I think I need to lie down,” he told Logan. “Can you help me outside?” 

“Ya mean inside,” Logan corrected him, but he was already moving in the direction of the door.

Scott clung onto the other man, letting Logan half-drag, half-carry him out of the room. Once they cleared the doorway, Scott gripped the white wall and then leaned against it, breathing heavily. The headache wasn’t gone, but it had eased considerably, enough for him to at least _think_. Logan hadn’t quite released him, and the other man was looking at him critically. 

“Ya don’t look well at all,” Logan stated, sounding more concerned than ever. “Let’s get you upstairs. Blue can take a look at you.” 

“No, wait,” Scott said. He ran through some quick breathing exercises, one hand still gripping Logan’s arm for support. When he was done, he looked up at Logan’s worried expression. “Can you tell me where we are?” 

Logan’s eyebrows almost climbed to his hairline. 

“Humor me, please.” 

“We’re at the school, of course. It’s a beautiful spring day, Scott. A perfect day.”

_A perfect day for what?_ Scott almost said, but stopped himself. His stomach dropped. He suspected that he already knew the answer. Logan’s soft touches just moments before, snippets of their previous conversation. _Most people get cold feet_ before _the ceremony, Scott_.

“What are you wearing?” 

At that question, Logan laughed, free and easy in a way that he had never done around Scott before. “Yeah, all right,” he said. “Ya finally got me to wear a penguin suit. It ain’t gonna happen again, Summers.” 

“Must be love,” Scott murmured. 

“Must be,” Logan agreed, but he was smiling.

Scott felt his heart ache. Dammit. _Dammit_. He couldn’t take much more of this. How could he have read the situation _soooo_ incorrectly? He was a fucking idiot. Logan’s gaze dropped to where Scott’s hand was still holding his arm. Even though Scott couldn’t see it, he knew what Logan must’ve been looking at – a band on Scott’s ring finger. 

Dammit. 

“Logan,” Scott said. Logan’s gaze drifted back up to his face. “Do you trust me?” 

“Completely,” Logan answered, without hesitation.

Scott knew it was true. He could see it in Logan’s eyes. The love. The devotion. The unquestioned loyalty. All directed at him. Coming face-to-face with Wolverine’s unfiltered emotions was overwhelming. For the first time, Scott understood how much power he wielded over the other man, and it was a frightening prospect. 

Scott wasn’t sure about what he was going to do next, only that it felt right…somehow. He was following his instincts more than anything else when he lifted his hand from Logan’s arm and placed it around the back of Logan’s neck. Then he leaned forward, tilted his head and slotted their lips together.

* * * * *

The kiss registered with Logan. He’d kissed Scott hundreds of times in a hundred different places, but this kiss was different. He didn’t know _why_, but he was certain of it. Summers even tasted a little different, familiar but still different. His scent was still the same. Logan lost himself in the kiss, pressing that firm body closer to him. _All the clichés were true_, he thought. This _was_ the happiest day of his life. He'd never realized before that he could feel so complete.

When the kiss ended, he was nuzzling the other man’s throat. He resisted the urge to mark his husband. There would be time for that later. Scott’s hand was still on his nape, rubbing soothing circles at the base. Scott had never done that before, but Logan liked it. It was relaxing. 

“Logan.” 

Logan instantly responded to the undertone of command that he heard in Scott’s voice. His eyes snapped to the other man’s face. Scott’s expression and tone were incongruous with their current situation, and Logan felt his pulse quicken. 

“I need you to listen to me very carefully,” Scott began. “What you’re seeing right now – the school, the wedding guests, the perfect spring day – none of it is real.”

Logan’s gaze shifted briefly. He took in the scene behind Scott – Storm painting pictures with clouds to make the younger kids happy, Marie laughing with Bobby, Beast chatting with Abigail Brand – before focusing on his husband again. 

“You’re having a hallucination,” Scott went on, as Logan’s mind rebelled at the thought. “Nothing that you see is real, except me. Do you understand?” 

When Logan didn’t say anything, Scott’s grip around his neck tightened. “Do you understand?” Scott repeated, more forcefully.

Logan shook his head. “I don’t understand,” he admitted. “But I believe you.” 

Scott’s expression softened. “I know you want this to be real,” he said. “I get that. _Believe me_, I get that. But we’re in danger, and I need your help.”

Logan straightened imperceptibly, but he still held Summers in his arms. “What do you need, Cyke?” he asked, now completely focused on the other man. He blocked out the noises of their friends, the laughter, the tinkling of cutlery and champagne glasses, the music drifting from down the lawn. 

“We’re in an underground facility run by Sinister,” Scott explained. “Behind us is a room that contains a powerful signal generator. That signal is what’s causing the hallucinations. I can’t blast the generator because I’ve been depowered. And I can’t enter the room because the signal debilitates me. But you…” 

Scott trailed off and placed his other hand on Logan’s chest. Logan immediately gripped it out of habit. 

“You can enter the room because the signal doesn’t hurt you. You need to ignore everything that you see and only listen to my voice. Follow my instructions and destroy the generator. Can you do that?”

Logan’s gaze had dropped down to Scott’s mouth while the other man had been speaking. The urge to kiss him again was strong. But Logan didn’t do that. If everything that Scott was saying was true, then Logan was only beginning to understand the consequences. It meant that not only was everything around him a hallucination, but that all the memories he had of his time with Scott weren’t real either. The funny thing was, he couldn’t seem to remember anything before Scott. 

“Logan, can you do that?”

Logan looked into the familiar ruby quartz glasses. Scott wore the penguin suit better than he did, but then again, Summers had always cleaned up _very well_ with his chiseled features and athletic body. Summers could’ve been a model if he’d had any clue about his own attractiveness. But that general obliviousness only made him even _more_ attractive. Logan smiled at the thought before sobering. 

“After I destroy the generator,” he said. “That means I don’t get to kiss you anymore, don’t it?” 

Scott opened his mouth to say something, but shut it just as quickly. It would’ve been comical, except the other man looked helpless, and Logan had never seen Cyclops look helpless before. That was answer enough. He released Summers from his embrace and nodded. 

“Tell me where to go,” he said. He was about to turn around, but Scott grabbed his hand. 

“Wait.” 

Scott looked uncertain and Logan eyed him a little warily. Uncertainty wasn’t in Cyclops’s vocabulary either. 

“Oh, what the hell,” Scott muttered, before he pushed himself into Logan’s space, pulling the other man towards him at the same time. This kiss wasn’t like their previous one, nothing deep or lingering, but Logan appreciated the gesture. 

“For luck,” Scott told him, half-exasperated. Logan gave him a wolfish grin before he stepped back out into the garden.

* * * * *

Scott watched Logan’s retreating back. He couldn’t imagine what the other man must be seeing or thinking or feeling. Yet, Logan had trusted Scott’s word completely. He hadn’t asked for further explanations or for any kind of proof. If Scott said that a signal generator needed to be destroyed, then that’s what Logan would do. Scott felt his heart ache again. Did he deserve that kind of unwavering trust and loyalty? From a man he thought had _hated_ him, when in fact, said man was actually _in love_ with him? _When did that happen?_ Scott wondered with dismay. Their animosity in the beginning had been real. Scott was certain of it. He had no idea when it had changed for Logan, or _why_ it had changed, but now he was faced with the incontrovertible evidence that it had.

“You’re doing great, Logan,” he said aloud. “Just keep walking straight. Nod once if you hear me.” 

There was a single nod immediately after Scott spoke. Scott watched as Logan crossed the length of the room, passing by the bank of monitors and console that the other man couldn’t see. 

“A few more steps,” Scott said. “And then you’ll turn right.” 

Scott was counting Logan’s steps. One…two…three…four…five… 

“Turn right now. Keep walking straight.”

Logan did as he was told. Scott put a hand to his head. The headache was fading to a dull throb. He still didn’t know exactly how the signal worked. Clearly, it was being broadcast through the transmitters masquerading as smoke detectors. But why couldn’t he feel its effects out here in the hallway? Was the room reinforced with some kind of shielding that kept the signal contained? And why weren’t Melissa and Jason affected by it? Speaking of their host and hostess, where had those two gone? Scott was running through those scenarios as he watched Logan approach the generator. 

“Stop,” he commanded. “The generator is –” 

He never finished his sentence.

* * * * *

Logan was walking further away from the wedding party and deeper into the grounds at the back of the school. White tents had been set up on the back lawn and that’s where his friends were, laughing and drinking and enjoying good food. He stopped when Scott told him to stop, but then Summers had been cut off. Logan strained to hear the other man’s voice cutting through all the other sounds. He didn’t know where the generator was located. All he could see was the manicured lawn in front of him and the woodland on his right.

“Scott!” he said loudly, hoping that he was near enough that the other man would hear him. 

“If you’re looking for your husband,” a familiar voice answered him. “You’re going in the wrong direction. I saw him speaking with Storm.” 

Logan turned. Marie was there. She looked radiant in a floral dress with sheer white gloves going up her arms. 

“What’re you doing out here?” she asked. 

“Wanted to get some fresh air,” Logan answered. 

“Uh-huh,” she said, obviously not believing him for a moment. “Your wedding is _outdoors_. Try again.”

Logan reached into his breast pocket, knowing that a cigar would be there. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Marie said, smiling at him. 

Logan snipped the end of the cigar with a claw and then proceeded to light it. 

“You know Scott can smell that on your breath, right?” 

“That’s what breath mints are for, darlin’.”

Marie laughed and Logan gave her a wolfish grin. They stood together quietly while Logan enjoyed his cigar (Cuban – he wasn’t going to scrimp on his wedding day). On the surface, Logan was the picture of serenity, but inside he was starting to panic. Something must’ve happened to Scott. He wouldn’t leave Logan hanging like this, and he’d been cut off so abruptly just before he could tell Logan something about the generator. Logan kept an eye on Marie, but he was also honing his hearing on anything out of the ordinary, anything that might give him a clue of what happened to Summers. He listened intensely for Scott’s _voice_.

“C’mon,” Marie eventually said, when Logan was halfway through his cigar. She grasped his hand. “You owe me a dance,” she reminded him, trying to tug him back in the direction of the wedding party. 

Logan was immovable. No way was he leaving the spot where Scott told him to stop. The generator must be nearby. 

“Let’s dance here,” he suggested. 

“I can barely hear the music,” Marie complained. 

“I can hear it just fine,” Logan told her. 

“_You_ can,” she grumbled, but she grudgingly allowed Logan to maneuver her into position. 

“Sometimes darlin’,” he said, clasping her hand in his and settling his other hand on her waist. “Ya don’t need music to dance.”

* * * * *

Scott felt the air rush out of his lungs as he was thrown against the wall and then pinned there, his feet dangling. There was an invisible grip around his neck and it was squeezing. _What the…?_

His gaze focused on the figure walking down the hallway. It was the maid he’d seen a few times around the inn, the one who reminded him of Jean. _Maybe the resemblance was more than physical_, Scott thought, since he was being immobilized by TK. 

“There you are,” she said, coldly. “I’ve been looking for you. It’s been a long time. I think I’m going to enjoy this.”

_Shit_, Scott thought. _She’s under the grip of a hallucination . . . and she’s a mutant . . . and I’m_ still _depowered_. 

_But how?_ he wondered. There were no transmitters in this area, as far as he could tell. Was the signal reaching her from the room? Why would it affect her and not him?

Scott’s gaze landed on the slim chain around the woman’s neck. The pendant dangling at the end of the necklace was familiar. It was the logo from the receipts that Scott had seen, the serpentine design of Ithaca Pharmaceuticals. But Scott didn’t think this woman _worked_ for Ithaca. If she was being controlled by a hallucination, then she was just as much of a guinea pig as the rest of them. 

“You promised to bring me with you,” the woman accused. “But you didn’t.” There were tears shining in her eyes. “You abandoned me. And I’ve searched this long . . . waiting . . . patiently . . . for you to feel the pain that I felt.”

_Revenge_, Scott realized with dismay. _Her deepest desire is revenge_. His gaze dropped to the nameplate that was neatly pinned to her uniform. Without his powers, all Scott had left were his negotiation skills. He had to find a way to talk her down. 

“Maddie,” he whispered, through the invisible grip squeezing his windpipe. “Please, let me explain.”

“Why?” she screamed at him. Scott felt the psionic blast underlying her words and inwardly grimaced. She had telepathy to go with her telekinesis. “Why do you deserve the chance? You always spoke pretty words.” 

“I never meant to leave you,” Scott gasped. The grip around his throat didn’t ease. “I had no choice.” 

“Lies!” she cried. “All lies.”

Her words said one thing, but her actions said something else. Scott took in a lungful of air as the pressure on his windpipe was relieved. He could breathe again, even though he was still dangling a good three feet off the ground. 

“I never meant to leave you,” he repeated. He was about to take a significant risk, but their brief interaction told him that it was a calculated one. 

“I love you.”

Scott held his breath. Maddie could decide to snap his neck or squeeze his windpipe to oblivion, but she did neither of those things. Instead, she let out an anguished cry. Scott felt the TK grip on him disappear and he fell to the floor. Maddie had fallen to her knees and was crying, burying her face in her hands. Scott knelt in front of her and gathered this strange, sobbing, dangerous woman into his arms, running one hand through her hair. 

“Logan,” he immediately said, loudly and clearly. “Logan, if you can still hear me, the generator is three paces to your left. Destroy it.” 

Maddie began to stir and Scott returned his attention to her, whispering nonsensical words of encouragement and comfort. He must’ve been on the right track because he felt her arms snake about his waist, as her tears soaked his shirt. Scott could only hope that Logan would follow through on his end.

* * * * *

The relief Logan felt at hearing Scott’s voice again was indescribable. It had been indistinct at first, and Scott had clearly not been speaking to him. _Maddie?_ Logan wondered. _Who the hell was Maddie?_ He’d worry about that later. _Now_ Scott was speaking to him, giving him instructions on how to destroy the generator. Logan re-oriented himself, spinning Marie in the process, to the exact position where he’d stopped earlier.

“Hang on, darlin’,” he told Marie, as he released her. “Just gotta do something.” 

Marie looked at him, a mixture of confusion and amusement on her face. She was used to his strange antics. Logan stepped away from her and counted three paces to his left. He extended his claws and felt Marie’s puzzlement grow. 

“Logan?” the young woman said, uncertainly. 

Though there was nothing but air in front of him, Logan drove his claws into the nothingness. He heard the rending of metal and the crackling static of electricity, and then there was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know those fics that won't end? This is _not_ one of them. One more chapter to wrap things up. I swear. :)


	5. Beginning at the End

Logan watched from a distance as Scott dealt with the bureaucrats. This was one of the aspects of being the team leader that Logan didn’t envy. The missions were fine; his teammates weren’t jerks (most of ‘em, anyway), but the bureaucracy? No thanks. He leaned against the hood of Scott’s silver BMW, careful not to put too much weight on the vehicle. He didn’t want his adamantium frame to damage the chassis. He pulled out a cigar from the inner pocket of his leather jacket, briefly recalling the fine Cuban that he’d been smoking during his wedding-hallucination. Logan sighed. It was all…SO. FUCKED. UP. He wasn’t looking forward to the drive back to the school. There were only two outcomes running through his mind: the uncomfortable stony silence or the even more uncomfortable conversation. Either outcome was extremely unappealing. He snipped his cigar and lit it.

Scott had called the authorities as soon as he and Logan had made a thorough search of the facility. Melissa and Jason had made their escape through another exit out of the control room. They’d taken a number of hard drives with them, but a lot of the samples had been left behind, especially in the laboratories, not to mention the prisoners and patients in the holding cells. The county Sheriff’s office had been the first the respond around 5:30am. Scott had still been communicating with the Professor when the first squad car had turned up in the parking lot. Logan suspected that Charles was using Cerebro now, monitoring things and maintaining a telepathic link with Cyclops as Scott navigated the authorities.

The feds had been the second group to arrive. Logan hadn’t even bothered with the agents’ names. Quick on their heels, and the most important of the groups, was the Bureau of Mutant Affairs. That’s the representative with whom Scott was speaking to now, the green-haired no-nonsense Agent Abigail Brand. A lot of people didn’t like Brand; they found her too abrasive. She didn’t have what one would call the ‘soft touch.’ (Maybe Hank knew otherwise. He and Brand had a thing going.) But the X-Men had worked with Abigail Brand a lot. In fact, she’d become their primary liaison at the Bureau of Mutant Affairs. Logan kept an ear on Cyclops and Brand’s conversation, so he knew when it had drawn to a close. The two mutants shook hands, Scott chuckling at a joke Brand made about Blue before parting ways.

Logan eyed Summers a little warily as he watched the other man approach him. He was mentally steeling himself for the encounter. It had been too chaotic earlier to process everything that had happened between them. But Logan remembered it all, right down to the moment that Scott had kissed him in order to break through Logan’s hallucination. Somehow, Summers had known that would work, and he’d been right. Logan marveled at the strategist in Cyclops. Summers would do what it would take for the mission to succeed, to use whatever was at his disposal, to make the tough decisions Logan had once thought him too soft to make. As much as Logan wanted that kiss to be real, it had only been real for one of them. And as far as fucked up missions went, this was pretty damn high on his list.

“How’s the kid?” he asked, as soon as Summers was near enough, attempting to circumvent whatever the other man was going to say. 

“Too early to tell,” Scott replied. “He’s still in a medically-induced coma. Brand will bring him to the Bureau’s hospital and Hank will meet them there.”

Logan nodded. That made sense. Beast was the foremost specialist when it came to mutant biology. If anybody could help the kid, it would be him. The kid had turned out to be the mutant signature that had drawn both he and Scott to the inn in the first place. It was his mutation that had been turned into an experimental weapon and amplified by the signal generator that had been broadcasting in the inn. Scott had been too debilitated by the signal in the control center to notice the child in his coffin-like incubator on the left-hand side of the room. It was the child who had caused Scott’s immense headache, not the signal generator itself, which had broadcast directly into the transmitters of the inn.

“What about Maddie?” 

“Strange,” Scott said. “Brand’s people can’t seem to find any records on her, but she’s clearly part of whatever experiment Sinister’s got going on here. She’ll go with Brand for processing, but the Professor would like to meet her. Brand will bring her to the Institute when they’re done at the Bureau.” 

“Maddie seems pretty attached to you,” Logan pointed out. 

Scott shrugged, an uncharacteristic gesture for him. “Circumstances,” he offered, by way of explanation.

Logan sort of grunted in response. Seeing a sobbing Maddie in Summers’ arms had driven home her striking resemblance to Jean. Knowing that she was a mutant too, and with similar powers to Jean unsettled him. He didn’t want to think ill of her – he didn’t even _know_ her, and she’d been experimented on by Sinister as well – but still…. Instinct told him that he should be careful. (How much of that was instinct and how much was jealousy or territoriality, Logan wouldn’t consider.) All he knew was that Maddie made him suspicious. 

“And the other mutants?” 

“They’ll be processed by the Bureau, and undergo a medical. If everything checks out, they’ll be released.”

“So, that’s it, then?” 

“That’s far from ‘it,’” Scott corrected. “But it’s what we can do for now.”

There was a lull in their conversation and Logan felt the moment shift. Fuck. This was what he’d been trying to put off. He finished the last of his cigar, stubbing what was left of it on his palm before crossing his arms. Scott was standing in front of him, and he thought it was a little unusual that the other man hadn’t commented on the cigar smoke yet. Maybe it was ‘cos they were outdoors, but Logan knew he’d be carrying the scent of the cigar smoke with him when he got in the car, faint though it would be.

Scott took a step toward him, and Logan tapped down on his flight or fight response. Summers hadn’t quite breached his personal space, but Scott was close, closer than he would normally stand next to Logan. He reached out and placed a hand on Logan’s forearm, another unusual gesture for him. 

“You did really well in there,” Scott told him, sounding professional but utterly sincere, with a warmth that Logan had never heard before. At least, not in _real life_. 

“I couldn’t have gotten through that without you.”

Scott’s hand felt like a brand on Logan’s arm, and there was no mistaking the heat that was blooming across his cheeks. Summers couldn’t tell if he was blushing, right? Not with the ruby quartz in his visor? Then he remembered that Scott was still depowered, but the other man wouldn’t risk taking off his visor. Until Summers could be examined by Beast, he wouldn’t risk not wearing any kind of protective gear. It was patented Cyclops behavior, but Logan longed to see the color of the other man’s eyes. 

“Yeah, well…” he drawled, affecting nonchalance at Scott’s praise. “Teamwork, right?”

Scott dropped his hand and Logan immediately missed the touch. “Teamwork,” Scott agreed, with a smile. He was digging into his pants pocket. He pulled out the keys to the BMW and tossed them to Logan, who caught them easily with his quick reflexes. 

Logan gave the other man a disbelieving look. “Yer lettin’ me drive?” he asked. 

Scott shrugged again. “Only if you want to,” he suggested. 

Logan pushed himself off the BMW’s hood and began walking to the driver’s side. “Fine by me,” he said, before Scott could change his mind. He could feel Summers’ amused look on his back. 

Scott began his walk to the passenger side of the car. He’d only reached his door when Logan opened his. “I might fall asleep on the way back,” he said. “Still have a bit of a headache.” 

“You do that,” Logan told him, as they both got inside. “I ain’t gonna crash yer car.” 

Scott chuckled, reaching for his seatbelt. “Let’s go home, Wolverine.”

* * *

Logan was left with the conundrum of his memories of the hallucinations. Even without the signal, the memory of those hallucinations remained vivid and clear to him. Beast had run tests on the both of them when they’d arrived, looking at their brain waves. The part of the brain that had activated the hallucinations was already fading in Scott, and the headaches that Scott had experienced weren’t going to cause any kind of permanent damage. (Logan had been relieved to hear that.) But that same part of Logan’s brain was lit up like a frickin’ Christmas tree, the hallucinations nestled so deeply that they felt like real memories to him. And Logan had to keep reminding himself that they weren’t real. They _weren’t_ real.

“It’s definitely a direct effect of engaging the hallucinations,” Hank said, examining Logan’s scans. He glanced at Logan. “Interesting tactic,” he added. “Albeit dangerous.” 

“You know me, bub,” Logan said. “Livin’ on the wild side.” 

Logan was keeping up appearances, but he was acutely aware of Scott’s presence in the room. It was plain that Hank didn’t know what Logan’s hallucinations had been about, which meant that Scott hadn’t told him (and Logan _definitely_ hadn’t mentioned anything). 

“Is Logan in any danger?” Scott asked, interrupting Logan’s thoughts.

“I don’t believe so,” Hank replied. “But it’s clear that one of the goals of that experiment was to make fantasy indistinguishable from reality. If a subject lived in the fantasy world created by their hallucinations, then they would also be easier to control. That was probably the next phase of the experiment. Though based on what you told me about Maddie,” he added, addressing Scott. “Those scientists had already reached that stage.” 

Scott nodded. “Can anything be done for Logan?” he asked, returning the conversation to Logan’s well being. 

“Probably not by me,” Hank admitted. “But the Professor could.” He swiveled his seat to face Logan. “If you wanted those memories removed, I’m sure Charles could do it. It’s just a matter of asking him.” 

Later, as they were leaving the sub-levels of the mansion, Logan said to Scott, “Do you want the Professor to remove those memories? Would that be easier for you?”

Scott had stopped walking. Logan could see the surprise in the other man’s expression, even behind the ruby quartz glasses. “This isn’t about me,” Scott said. “This should be about what _you_ want, and what’s best for _you_.” 

Logan shook his head. “My brain’s been scrambled so many times by Weapon X, it don’t really matter anymore.” He paused. “I’d like to keep ‘em,” he said. “The memories, I mean, even if they ain’t real.” 

“Okay,” Scott agreed.

“Y’know what I _really_ want,” Logan went on, deciding to push the envelope while Summers was still so accommodating. “In all those hallucinations, I never saw the color of yer eyes. I guess I always thought they’d be brown, y’know? Like the color of yer hair.”

Logan knew that his look was a little challenging. He didn’t really expect Summers to take the bait. The guy wouldn’t do anything to risk damaging the school or hurting anyone. But Scott’s expression was thoughtful, and Logan watched with utter amazement as the other man slipped off the familiar ruby quartz glasses. When he looked at Logan again, Logan finally knew the answer to a question that he’d long wondered about. 

“That’s a different kind of weapon, Cyke,” Logan said quietly. 

Scott laughed, and for the first time Logan saw how the laugh reached his eyes. His crystal blue eyes. 

“And that’s how you know this memory is real,” Scott said, putting his glasses back on.

Logan felt a weight lift from his chest. This thing with Scott, his unrequited feelings – it was going to be okay. He could tell. Scott was compassionate and understanding. He wasn’t going to be a dick over Logan’s feelings for him. It had been less than a day – the drive back to the school, the debriefing with the Professor, the check-up with Hank – and already Logan could see the changes in their relationship, the effort that Scott was making. But he still needed some time. 

“So, I was thinkin’,” Logan began, as they waited for the elevator. “If ya don’t really need me so much, I was thinkin’ I’d take a bit of a break.” 

“Where would you go?” Scott asked calmly.

“Up to the Rockies. I got a cabin up there.” 

“And how long would you stay?” 

“A week? Maybe two?” 

The elevator arrived and they both stepped inside. Scott hit the button for the residential quarters. “Two weeks then,” Scott repeated, as the elevator brought them to their floor. “You have a good trip, Logan,” he said, before they parted ways. 

“Thanks,” Logan said. “I will.”

* * *

There was a time when Logan would’ve taken off without telling anyone about his plans, without checking in with anyone at the school, without giving a damn about what anyone thought. Those days were long gone. Logan called Marie twice to see how she was doing. He checked in with Charles once. He _almost_ called Scott, but decided against it in the end. If Cyclops needed him for anything, he’d get in touch. Logan had made it perfectly clear that if there was any kind of emergency, Scott should contact him. And he knew that Scott would.

The two weeks went by quickly, and Logan came back to Westchester feeling refreshed, rested and at peace with himself. It was fitting that the first person he should run into leaving the Professor’s office just as he was about to knock was Cyclops. Of course. 

“Logan,” Scott said with surprise, and the smile that greeted Logan was warm. “I didn’t realize you were back.” 

“Just got back,” Logan said. His duffel was still slung over his shoulder. He thought he’d greet the Professor first before heading up to his room. Unrequited love may have sucked balls, but Logan couldn’t deny how _good_ it was to see Scott after two weeks. And Scott looked good. Scott _always_ looked good. 

“Good trip?” 

“Pretty good.” 

“Well, Charles is free,” Scott said, motioning to the door behind him. “He’ll be happy to see you.” He smiled again. “It’s good to have you back.” 

“It’s good to be back,” Logan agreed, without any trace of sarcasm. It was a simple statement, but it was completely true. He knocked on the Professor’s heavy door as he watched Scott’s retreating back.

“Come in, Logan,” came the Professor’s greeting, making Logan wonder if Charles had been eavesdropping on their conversation. He’d never told Charles his specific reasons for wanting a break, but he suspected that Charles had already known. There wasn’t anything you could keep a secret from the most powerful telepath in the world, especially if you were living under his roof. 

“Good trip?” Charles said, echoing Scott’s question. 

Logan gave the man a wry grin as he placed his duffel on the ground. “Pretty good,” he said, giving Charles the same response. _Charles’s look was all too knowing,_ Logan thought.

Their conversation almost felt like a debriefing of sorts, with Charles filling him in on any significant events that Logan had missed. Two details were especially relevant to Scott and Logan’s last mission together. The first was that the child from the inn was now a student at the school. Abigail Brand hadn’t been able to find any official records on him, though she suspected that he’d come from one of Sinister’s orphanages. _Just like Scott_, Logan thought. Once the boy’s mutation had surfaced, he’d probably been transferred to the testing facility. The second (and perhaps more disturbing) detail was that Maddie was also at the school. She’d been working with Scott and the Professor in an effort to restore her memories and gain better control of her powers.

“She trusts Scott,” Charles said thoughtfully. “That’s unsurprising given how trauma has a way of bringing people together. He’s made a lot of progress with her.” 

Logan made a non-committal sound in response, remembering how suspiciously he’d viewed Maddie from before. 

“Her history is intriguing,” Charles went on, seemingly unaware of Logan’s unease. “Her real name is Madelyne Pryor. I’m sure you’ve noticed her startling resemblance to Jean?” 

“Hard not to,” Logan muttered.

“Indeed,” Charles agreed. “I think everybody at the school has commented on it. For the most part, Maddie’s memories have been wiped clean. She’s a blank slate, except for this unusual detail – her powers manifested very late. Typically, mutants come into their powers during puberty, when their bodies are going through enormous change. But Maddie doesn’t remember her childhood or her teenage years. What she remembers is the day she could move objects with her mind and suddenly hear other people’s thoughts. As far as I can tell, that was the same day that Jean died.”

Logan’s gaze focused on the Professor, his expression hard. “Does Scott know this?” 

“Of course,” Charles answered. “Including myself, Scott, Hank, Ororo and now you, are the only people who do.” 

“Ya don’t trust her,” Logan suddenly said, putting things together. 

“That’s difficult to say,” Charles admitted. “But I know _you_ don’t trust her, and I’d be foolish not to heed the Wolverine’s instincts.” 

“What do you want from me, Charles?” Logan asked, a little warily. 

“Nothing that you aren’t already doing,” Charles said smoothly. “I know how much you care for Scott. Just keep an eye on him, and keep an eye on her. Keep them both…safe. Speaking of which…” the Professor suddenly said. 

Logan recognized that tone. It meant that their conversation was over and that he was about to be dismissed. 

“…Scott’s waiting for you outside.” 

Logan stood up. “I’ll keep an eye on them,” he told Charles. 

“I know you will,” Charles replied.

* * *

True to Charles’s word, Scott was in the small sitting area outside the Professor’s office, leafing through a current affairs magazine. He put the magazine down and stood up when Logan exited the office.

“Are you busy right now?” Scott asked him. 

Logan shook his head. “Nah, what’s up?” 

“I have to go into the city to meet a contact, and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me?” 

“You need back up?” 

“It would be nice.”

“Sure,” Logan agreed, easily falling into step beside the other man. He motioned to his duffel. “Lemme just dump this in my room. I can meet ya in the garage.” 

“I was also thinking,” Scott went on conversationally, as they neared the central staircase. “After the meeting, we could stay in the city and have dinner…if you wanted to.” 

Logan stopped abruptly, one foot on the bottom step of the wide staircase and looked at the other man dumbfounded. “Dinner?” he said, a little stupidly. “With you?” 

“If you wanted to,” Scott repeated.

Logan could feel his pulse quickening. He wasn’t misreading this situation, was he? Scott was asking him to have dinner with him. And the other man _knew_ about Logan’s feelings, how Logan would interpret the invitation. Or maybe Logan was reading too much into it. Maybe Scott was just offering an olive branch, a fresh start. That was something Summers would do, right? To check on him after two weeks? Make sure the team dynamics were still okay? Cyclops always put the well being of the team first.

Logan exhaled and nodded. “Sure,” he said. “So, who’s the mark anyway?” 

“He’s not a mark,” Scott explained, with a shake of his head. “He’s more an informant, working undercover. He’s been providing us information on the Purifiers and, in exchange, we’re going to get him out of that organization.” 

“Fair trade,” Logan agreed. He was about to continue up the steps, but Scott’s voice stopped him. 

“Just so we’re clear, Logan. I just asked you out on a date. That’s what the dinner is supposed to be – a date. If you’re still interested in that.” 

“Damn, Summers,” Logan said, but he was chuckling. “You always this direct?” 

“Subtlety is not my strong suit when it comes to personal relationships,” Scott said, sounding so matter-of-fact that it made Logan smile. “Or so I’ve been told. Still interested in dinner?” 

“What do you think?” 

Scott grinned. “I’ll meet you in the garage,” he said, turning away. 

“Do I need to change?” Logan called after him. They were going on a first date, right? 

Scott waved the question away with his hand, not even bothering to look back. “What you’re wearing is fine,” he said, knowing that Logan’s keen hearing would pick up his words.

Logan remembered to wipe the stupid grin off his face before somebody caught him. He bounded up the staircase with more energy than usual, turning left in the direction of the staff quarters when he reached the second floor. His room was at the end of the hallway. As he approached it, he knew that the stupid grin was back, but it didn’t matter. There was no one around to see it. Things between him and Scott? 

They were going to be just fine. 

**Fin.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done! \o/ 
> 
> And yes, I left it open-ended in case I decide to write a sequel. And no, I'm not going to do that right away because there are other WIPs to finish. (I'm thinking "You Are The Blood" or "This Could Take a Lifetime" should be finished next. It's only been two years or so...lol.) 
> 
> Thanks, everybody, for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> The merry mutants belong to Marvel. No offense is intended; no profit is being made.


End file.
